


strictly professional

by Eya_Silvers



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Banter, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Lydia is the queen, Porn With Plot, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-02 11:10:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8665336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eya_Silvers/pseuds/Eya_Silvers
Summary: “I didn’t stumble into your life.”“You kinda did.”“I’ll let you know that you are the one that said yes to be my girlfriend. No one forced you into anything. Plus, I don’t see you wailing on the floor, complaining to everyone who asks that I’m the evillest monster you’ve ever faced.”“I wail sometimes, but it’s because you’re not around.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by an amazing Fitzsimmons fanfic that I can't seem to find.  
> Lots of kisses to my beta ennamoon on tumblr, without whom this would've been really difficult to read as I'm far from being an English-speaker. Lots of kisses to myself too, because it took me four months to write this and I'm still thinking things need to get fixed.
> 
> (also there might be mistakes 'cuz I rewrote some scenes after my beta read it all - I'm an awful human being)

The phone in Lydia’s purse is vibrating again for the third time in one minute.

She doesn’t bother checking the screen, she knows whose name she’ll find on it, and she holds back an annoyed huff as she shakes her purse, as if trying to bury the vibrations under her foundation, lipstick, tampons, condoms, multicolored USB keys, crayons and notebook.

The woman with the very small yet very noisy kid in the line in front of her leaves with a bagel and a hot medium coffee, and Lydia takes her place. The kid screams that he wants his snack right now before staring at Lydia, who glares at him with such an irritated expression that he prefers to shut his little mouth and fearfully sit down at a table with his tired mother.

Lydia turns her head to the young boy behind the counter, who probably works here to get some money for school, and shoots him a dazzling smile.

“A medium Americano with a pump of caramel, please.” she asks.

Her phone is vibrating again and when the boy comes back with her coffee, she sees him eyeing her emphatically.

“It’s buzzing.” he says shyly.

She fakes a grin. “Absolutely.” She pays and strolls up to an empty table, dropping her butt on a chair and her purse on an other one.

She quietly hums to herself as she takes a small sip of her coffee, and pulls out of her handbag a notebook and a pen.

Her phone vibrates once more before it finally becomes as inanimate as any other device. Lydia smiles to herself, knowing that the one who called has finally given up, and buries her nose into the notes she’s taken during her last class.

She has the time to order another Americano before Allison smacks her heels in front of her table, looking down at her with hands closed into fists.

“I’ve been trying to reach out to you for ages!”

Lydia purposefully takes her time to finish her page, swallows down a sip of coffee before looking up with an innocent smile.

“Sorry about that, I kind of didn’t want to hear any more of your pathetic attempts at changing my mind. If you hadn’t guessed, the answer is still no.”

Allison takes the seat in front of her, nervously throwing her brown locks over her shoulder. “Lydia, we all think it might do you good.”

“Of course, because setting me up with a guy I don’t even know the name of can absolutely do me good.” she scoffs.

Allison’s eyes darken. “You’re sleeping with random strangers whose names you don’t even remember and I don’t see you complaining.” she says dryly.

Lydia purses her lips and looks down at her nails, taken aback. “It’s different.” she pretends. “I chose these guys because I know they know it’s only for one night. We both mutually agree on this, we both benefit from this, and no one gets hurt.”

Allison looks like she wants to reach out to her and take her hand. “Lydia, just because one guy made dick moves doesn’t mean that all of them do the same -”

“I don’t want to talk about him.” she stops her, glaring into her best friend’s eyes forcefully.

“What I’m trying to say is, there are plenty of other fishes in the sea!”

“Hmm.” Lydia swallows another sip. “I like the metaphor.”

“Just hear me out!”

“If you want to stay here, you should order something. I heard it’s not polite to barge in a café without actually getting something.”

Allison stares. Lydia knows she went too far and presses her lips together in a thin line. “Sorry. We can share my coffee, but a warning: I took it without skim.”

Allison flashes her a grateful smile. “It’s fine. You’re right. I’ll go and grab one.” She stands up, Lydia takes note of her knee-length white skirt and multi-colored short-sleeved top with an appreciative nod. “Don’t run away while I’m gone!” shouts Allison, glaring at her as she walks to the counter. “We still have a lot to talk about.”

“You know I wouldn’t dare facing your wrath.”

Lydia smiles to herself before dropping her head into her notebook again, but the truth is, she cannot get back to the level of concentration she had before her best friend barged into the place.

Allison’s piqued her curiosity, and it makes Lydia huff in annoyance.

“How exactly did you find me?” she asks once Allison came back with her coffee, because attack has always been the best defense.

But Allison chuckles, dropping her forefinger into the skim. “You come here almost every two days to study.”

“Are you saying I’m predictable?”

“You kind of are.” Allison licks her finger appreciatively. “Gosh I love skim.”

“Was that an innuendo?”

Allison has the right to blush very hard. “Gross, Lydia!”

“Come on, it’s not like you guys are a secret.”

“Okay, enough talking about my love life.” says Allison, suddenly looking very serious. “I know it’s just a way to avoid what’s coming.”

“I’m sorry, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” pretends Lydia, taking a sip of her coffee and erasing the lipstick mark afterwards.

“A party.”

“Yes, a party.” echoes Lydia impatiently. “You want to throw one?”

“No, that’s your thing.” Allison smirks and Lydia nods contentedly. “Danny’s throwing a party thursday night, at his house, ten pm. You should come!”

Lydia winces at her notebook. “I can’t, I have an essay to write.”

Allison is practically vibrating with eagerness. “You can write your essay later, you’ll nail it anyway. Lydia, you have to be there!”

“So you can introduce me to a few virgins, threatening me not to screw them and leave? Please.”

Allison opens and closes her fists, clearly exasperated but trying her best not to show it. “Just… tell me you’ll be there.”

Lydia stares into her best friend’s pupils. She sighs. “I’ll be there.”

Allison beams and pumps her fist into the air. “I’m so proud of you, Lydia.”

“Yeah. Anyways, you barely mentioned Isaac earlier - how is he?”

They leave the café together, waving each other goodbye as they both hop in their own cars. In front of the steering wheel, Lydia waits for Allison to have driven off before taking her phone from her purse and dialing her partner from her martial arts class.

“Hey, Malia. Do you happen to know a guy who can bust me out of a time-consuming relationship before thursday night?”

 

*

 

Her heel taps impatiently against the foot of the table and she’s about to crack a nerve. She nervously glances out the window, checking again for some brown-headed guy to recognize her but he seems to be late, and if there’s anything that Lydia hates more in the world than her ex-boyfriend and doctors, it’s waiting.

“Malia, did you give him the right address?” she snaps, phone glued to her ear.

“Yeah of course, I know where you always take your coffee.” replies the girl at the other end of the line, and Lydia rolls her eyes. Is she _really_ that predictable?

“Well he seems to have lost himself on the way down there.” she hisses.

“No, he’s going to be there.” Malia assures her. “I described you to him, so he’ll be there for sure, probably trying to make a good impression. He said he’s eager to meet you.”

Lydia quirks an eyebrow, amused. “Were those his exact words?”

“Not really, it was more along the lines of ‘she seems hot’.”

Lydia sighs, shaking her head. “I hope he knows I’m not on the market.”

“Don’t worry, I told him. … hold on, he’s just texted me, he’s in front of the café. You see him?”

Lydia looks out the window where many passersby attend to their everyday occupations like walking their dog, jogging, crying out while hastily running to a policeman who’s carefully sticking a fine under their wiper, laughing with their friends with countless shopping bags hanging on their arms. And then, finally, she sees him.

She wouldn’t have noticed him normally. She wouldn’t have even glanced at him. In simpler words, he isn’t her type.

He enters the café like he has a dangerous criminal on his tail and energetically bounces around, head spinning from left to right, gaze hovering above the many heads of the customers, until he spots her and freezes.

Lydia ends the call, observes him as he comes her way, her half-empty coffee in a hand, and quirks an eyebrow as he awkwardly takes the seat in front of her.

“Hi.” he says. “I’m Stiles.”

Lydia doesn’t speak during a few lasting seconds, deliberately stressing him out. She takes his whole body into count, from the tip of his spiky hair to the middle of his belly where the table cuts his lower half from view. She isn’t happy with what she sees, because her first impression of him hasn’t been very enthusiastic and now she has to refute her primary thought, that she wouldn’t have even gazed at him if he happened to step in her way.

Up close, he is much different. Brown-haired with way too much gel, honey-colored eyes that can’t seem to be able to stare at something other than her face, eyelashes so long and curly that she almost feels threatened. She likes the way his pink lips shine a little after he’s pulled out a wet tongue to anxiously run it over those, and the way his upturned nose still makes him look like a child. Frankly, there is nothing displeasing to note about his facial features, and this makes Lydia internally huff with annoyance.

She gazes at his simple blue shirt, is obligated to admit that the lack of wrinkles means that he’s ironed it. And from what she sees by his long arms, he is familiar with gyms.

He clears his throat and Lydia looks up to the honey in his eyes.

“Are you done with your examination?”

She sees the smirk hanging above his lips and forces a smile on hers.

“Not yet.” she replies, setting down her coffee.

“Wow, you’re the fancy type.” he lets out with a chuckle.

“Sorry?”

“You could’ve ordered a black coffee just like every other poor soul in here, but you still managed to find the most exotic one.” he explains, and Lydia thinks that _he_ hasn’t ordered anything.

“I like it with one or two pumps of caramel.” she replies quickly. “You should grab a coffee, by the way.”

“No, thanks.” he says with a wave. “It makes me even more jumpy than I already am.”

Lydia makes a mental list of all of his flaws.

Here’s what she knows about “Stiles” Stilinski at the end of this rendezvous.

He tends to blabber a lot and likes to go off on subjects than no one really cares about, such as the history of circumcision, the phone app to track sharks or Pokemon Go’s supernatural disappearance.

He’s clumsy and cracks way too much jokes, but can at the same time be very crafty and perspicacious. This drives her mad, because she doesn’t know when he’s going to be which.

He sometimes has anxiety attacks, revealed by his raw nails and family status.

He scratches the back of his neck and stretches out, making his shirt roll up to his navel, as if it’s a very appropriate thing to do in the middle of a café.

He looks at her _a lot_. And it’s very hard to concentrate on examining him when his gaze is locked on her hair.

“So, how did it go?” he asks once she’s said she has enough. “Was I good?”

She doesn’t want him to hope too much. “I guess.” she replies shortly.

Stiles fidgets, pulls at one of his long fingers to busy himself. “You guess? You mean, you’re not sure, you’ll call me back to tell me if I’m in a fake-relationship with you or not?”

“Something like that.”

He groans outwardly. “You know I want to get paid, right?”

Lydia, whose hand was already going to grab her purse, freezes in the middle of the action. “What?”

“I want to get paid.” he repeats. “I mean, I’m getting to hang out with you and your friends that I don’t know, maybe kiss you and grope your butt because you don’t want to tell them that you don’t have a boyfriend, and you want me to do this for free? Hell no, bring on the dough.”

Lydia isn’t in control of her cheeks and she blushes, hating herself for it. “This wasn’t the original deal.” she snaps. “I’m definitely not paying you.”

Stiles’s serious face breaks into a grin and she wants to throw the sugar at it. “Just kidding! Frankly, I would give up all the money in the world to fake-hang out with you.” He quickly realizes his mistake as Lydia quirks an eyebrow up. “Er - I mean, not-romantically speaking. Because I am well aware that this” he gestures the two of them “is staying strictly professional.” He swallows a lump in his throat, Lydia’s gaze still locked on him critically. “Until you decide that we should take this relationship to the next level.“ Lydia’s glare intensifies. “Or not. Your call. You’re the game master, after all.”

Lydia continues to glare at him during a long while and he distinctly pales.

She silently, delicately grabs her purse, gets on her feet, slides her chair, arranges her hair in her reflection in the window, and turns back to Stiles who seems to finally understand that he’s overstepped.

“As you said, our relationship will stay strictly professional.” she says coldly. “You will not touch me without my consent or without me touching you first, and even that only in public.”

But once again, he cannot control his mouth. “What happens outside of public?”

Her eyes shoot daggers. “We don’t interact. You have your life, I have mine, and you only come when I call.”

“That’s kinky.”

She stares, shaking her head in disbelief. “Are you doing this on purpose?”

“Sorry.” he winces. “My mouth has like, no filter, it’s got a life on its own.”

“Well please kill it.”

His hand flies up as if she is his teacher and he has a question. “But what happens with your friends? If I don’t touch you, or even talk, they’ll think something’s off and your plan goes down.”

Lydia’s first action is to roll her eyes so hard she thinks they’ll eventually fall off, but she soon realizes that he is in fact quite right.

“Okay, you can touch me and talk.” she snaps, mad for being wrong. “But no petting or touches below the waist, are we clear?”

Stiles nods politely. “Does that mean I got the job?”

Lydia closes her eyes. She wants to rub her lids until she sees stars but today’s eyeshadow’s taken too much time to apply and she’s too proud of it to mess it up.

To be honest, he is the perfect candidate, and she makes a mental note to thank Malia for that. He seems kind, a little too affectionate, and he even shares her snark and sass, but on the other end, he isn’t like all the other guys Lydia’s dated or hooked up with. He _questions_ her. Deliberately pushes her over the edge. Twenty minutes into this and she can already feel annoyance creeping in.

However, he is a good actor, judging by how he made her think he wanted to get paid. And he’s definitely not an amateur at kissing, like Malia said. If there’s one thing Lydia hates (besides hospitals and her ex, obviously), it’s sloppy pecks.

“You have it.” she lets out almost half-heartedly.

Stiles smiles with that childish smile, they shake hands, she tells him that she’ll send him a text for their next meeting with her friends. It’s nothing but professional, nothing she didn’t expect.

They shake hands and that’s it, they’re boyfriend and girlfriend.

 

*

 

 _Stiles_ |4:47| _: so….. is there gonna be a second time?_

 _Lydia_ |4:47| _: Maybe_

 _Stiles_ |4:48| _: seems like a yes to me ;)_

 _Lydia_ |4:49| _: I’m still thinking about it._

 _Stiles_ |4:49| _: u kidding?! i was at my peak!_

 _Lydia_ |4:50| _: You were good._

 _Stiles_ |4:51| _: good how? god-good or just good ? cuz you have to specify, unfortunately i do not possess the power of telepathy_

 _Lydia_ |4:51| _: Thank god you don’t. And please stop with these fake after-sex texts, they’re useless._

 _Stiles_ |4:52| _: uh no they’re not. We have to convince your friends that youre mindlessly in love with your last one night stand_

 _Lydia_ |4:53| _: Yes we do, except I’m not going to send you sex texts. Grinning to my screen already perfects the cover._

 _Stiles_ |4:53| _: but what if one of your friends looks over your shoulder and sees that youre lying?_

 _Lydia_ |4:55| _: No one’s going to look over my shoulder. Now quit with the sex texts._

 _Stiles_ |4:58| _: fine. but only because you ask so nicely_

 _Stiles_ |4:58| _: so what do i send you?_

 _Lydia_ |4:59| _: I don’t know, use your mind._

 _Stiles_ |4:59| _: but it’s super blank rn!!_

 _Lydia_ |4:59| _: Are you joking? You’re always talking and going off on subjects you mastered by surfing Wikipedia and your mind is suddenly blank?_

 _Stiles_ |5:00| _: theres too much pressure!!_

 _Lydia_ |5:00| _: You’re insufferable._

 _Stiles_ |5:01| _: its not my fault! anyway, how are your friends looking?_

 _Lydia_ |5:02| _: Allison smiles when she looks at me, her boyfriend frowns and Kira looks spectacularly unaware._

 _Stiles_ |5:02| _: so it’s working! thats what you wanted right? so how long til i can join you guys?_

 _Lydia_ |5:03| _: What, you don’t have friends on your own or you’re in a hurry?_

 _Stiles_ |5:04| _: well with the way you talked about them, they seemed cool_

 _Stiles_ |5:04| _: and I have friends on my own!_

 _Lydia_ |5:05| _: I’m shocked. Name them._

 _Stiles_ |5:06| _: scott, for instance. best puppy ever, i highly recommend him if youre in need of a hug or a shrink (just expose him all of ur problems and he’ll listen til the end without a flinch i love him)_

 _Lydia_ |5:07| _: And you only have one friend._

 _Stiles_ |5:08| _: is that a bad thing?_

 _Lydia_ |5:11| _: No, of course not, sorry._

 _Lydia_ |5:20| _: There’s a party. Thursday night, ten pm._

 _Stiles_ |5:20| _: i’ll be there._

 _Stiles_ |5:20| _: if you want to_

 _Lydia_ |5:22| _: Of course I want you to be there._

*

Lydia invites him over at her house Thursday at eight. She’s glad he ate already, because she would be very displeased to have to cook for him as she, even though she hates to admit it, is a terrible cook.

He shows up right on time, thus rising in Lydia’s esteem.

He shows up with a bouquet in hand.

Lydia also blinks in front of the gigantic varieties of all the colors of the rainbow that mask Stiles’s face.

“What are those for?” she asks slowly, taking her time to compose herself.

His voice is muffled by the bouquet he’s probably growing tired of holding. “Isn’t it tradition to bring flowers to a loved one?”

Lydia rolls her eyes. Unfortunately, he cannot see how wonderfully she perfected the gesture, therefore he can not imagine how many times a day she strengthens her extraocular muscles.

“Our relationship is professional.” she repeats as if she is a record, letting him through.

She fishes for a large glass, fills it with water and Stiles merrily dunks his bouquet in it, places his hands on his sides. “What a work of art.”

Lydia squints at the explosion of colors. She’s never going to confess that the improbable mix actually looks beautiful.

She pokes a Dianthus caryophyllus. “Why did you bring me those in the first place?”

Stiles frowns like he can’t believe she asked him that. “Girls love flowers, right? And girls invite other girls for sleepovers like, all the time, so your friends are most likely gonna wonder why the hell you have this gigantic, but succulent bouquet home, which will help you perfecting your cover!”

Lydia looks up to his pleased grin. “Are you aware that the word ‘succulent’ is exclusively used to describe how food tastes like?”

He swallows, nods. “Yes.” He looks down at a magnolia. “Flowers are food.”

“You seem disturbingly sure of yourself.”

“That’s because I am.”

“Okay.”

Lydia turns around, momentarily wondering what she was about to do (god does she hate how Stiles unsettles her), but he throws his arms in the air before she has the chance to remember her plan.

“I love your apartment, by the way. It’s really nicer than mine. And bigger. And quieter. And… cleaner.”

She remembers now. “You’re spending the night here.” she spurts out.

Stiles, who was about to fetch for _Thermodynamic: Asymmetry in Time_ in Lydia’s bookcase, swirls around. “I got my stuff in my car. One question though: do I get a bed?”

Lydia rolls her eyes again so he can see how much her eyeballs work out. “Of course you get a bed, slavery has been abolished a long time ago.” He follows her to her bedroom, slightly smaller than the living room. Eyes the king size bed, doesn’t comment about the sleeping pills and the four forgotten stained cups of coffee. “I got you a mattress.” says Lydia as she pushes it with her heel.

‘A mattress’ is not what Stiles would have called this den. When he lies down on it for a test, he even finds out that, even though the mattress is still lying on a hard ground, it is more comfortable than his own. He feels the sheets with his fingers, wedges the three pillows under his head and closes his eyes, almost forgets how very pink and purple his new bed is.

When he opens his eyes, Lydia is standing right in front of him, arms crossed and an eyebrow quirked up. Somehow he can tell, by the slight rising of the corners of her mouth, that she is amused.

“Are you going to stay here unmoving forever? We still have a lot to do.” she comments.

He gets back up and stretches. His shirt reveals his happy trail and Lydia ignores it for now.

She opens her closet, pulls out a shirt, pants and shoes, hands the whole package to Stiles who takes it and stares at it doubtfully. “I’m fine with what I’m wearing!”

Lydia scans his outfit scrupulously. A shoelace from his right sneaker is hanging loose, his khakis are green at the knees on which he most presumably falls often, and she’s pretty sure he ate a hot-dog from the tiniest ketchup spot on his blue shirt.

“My boyfriend would never dress like that.” she scoffs. “Go change in the bathroom.”

He turns to walk away, can’t help but groan: “Seems like all of your boyfriends were the brat model type.”

She doesn’t correct him.

He comes back from the bathroom five minutes later, tugging on the collar with an irritated grimace. Lydia judges him from up and down, appreciating her work and the way the buttons of the long-sleeved white shirt threaten to pop.

“Is it supposed to be this tight?” he complains.

Lydia nods. “My previous dates liked to show off.”

He frowns down at himself, pulling at the black belt securing his new dark pants. “I don’t know, I feel like everyone’s gonna stare at me.”

“That’s kinda the point.” she replies, trying not to look at his biceps. “You’re my new boyfriend, and everyone knows I don’t usually _have_ a boyfriend. People always judge by taking in the appearance at first, and you need to be perfect. Can you roll up your sleeves right before your elbows? _That’s what I’m talking about_.”

Stiles turns around, allowing her to criticize the piece of shirt that has pulled out of his pants (she definitely doesn’t look at his ass although she can say that his looks incredibly comfortable).

“What are you gonna wear?” he asks, sitting down on his little bit of territory.

Lydia reopens her closet, pulls out one of her favorite dresses. Striking blue, short-sleeved, low-necked, there’s no way she can put a bra on without it looking weird.

She disappears to put it on along with black heels. When she comes back, she doesn’t notice Stiles’s gaze on her legs.

They hop inside Lydia’s car because there’s no way on earth she’s going to climb inside this piece of trash that he calls his Jeep. On their way to Danny’s party, she makes a quick sum up of the whole situation.

“First of all, Danny’s gay, so his own friends and drag queens are probably coming over.” she says, anxiously tapping the wheel even though she hasn’t turned the radio on. “He’s a really nice person, we went to the same high school together and he’s really reliable, but maybe try not to talk to him that much, he’s never liked all of my previous dates before.”

Stiles nods, staring straight ahead of him. “Got it. Avoid Danny boy.”

“Allison’s going to be there as well with her boyfriend.”

“Allison’s your best friend, right?”

“Right. You’re not supposed to know much about her because we’ve only been dating for only a couple of days, but you don’t want to get on her wrong side. No sexist remarks, no hunting jokes, no family talk.”

“Do you really think so little of me?”

“Stiles, we’ve only been seeing each other for a few days. I have no idea how you’re going to react.”

He looks sullen during a second, but his face suddenly lightens up. “Hey, you’re making a point! We almost don’t know anything about each other’s life.”

Lydia makes an annoyed pout. She’s had no intention of reaching this subject at all. “We talked about it.” she says as if she’s trying to convince a five-year-old. “You have your own life, I have my own life, and both stay parallel, which means they can never cross ways.”

“For once, I read the terms and conditions for this contract. But your friend, Allison, is going to ask how we got together and shit, right? I mean, she has to be curious, at least a little. We need a backstory.”

“I already got it planned. We met at a party, hooked up, and miraculously stayed in touch.”

Stiles shakes his head. “Nope, not believable enough. We need to at least know each other’s little secrets. Like, what shampoo you’re using.”

“No. Too intimate.”

“Okay. What are you majoring in?”

Lydia doesn’t like this at all. Some might even say that she is repulsed by this conversation. Never has she intended to do small talk with _Stiles Stilinski_.

“Biology.” she replies, teeth clenched.

Stiles nods contentedly. “Well, I’m in criminology.”

He’s piqued Lydia’s curiosity. She almost forgets her displeasure. “Why would a guy majoring in criminology agree to become a fake date?”

Stiles simply shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess I was… bored? Kinda. When Malia proposed this job, I thought that it could be fun, but on a second thought, it would also train me to be a cop later. You know, going undercover, make out with the damsel, catch the bad guys and make love with the doughnuts.”

Lydia stops at a red light, the corner of her mouth twitching to resemble a smile. Stiles turns his head around at her. “So, what’s your uni?”

“Stanford.” She lets it out like she can’t believe she’s opening up to him.

“Wow. Just how smart are you?”

She tries not to be flattered. “I have an IQ of one hundred seventy.”

Stiles lets out a whistle. When his gaze drops back on her, it’s now in a completely different way. “Dear god. I’m standing next to the female and sexyer version of Einstein. This is…” He pinches his nose, holding in a chuckle. “I don’t even have words. Do you have plans for your future? Don’t tell me you’ll become like the biologist in _Bones_ , with the long white coat and the enormous pair of goggles.”

“Why, do you have a kink?” It was supposed to come off as a mockery. She doesn’t know why it just looks like she’s gently teasing him.

Stiles’s face distinctly reddens. “No. I don’t - that’s disgusting, Lydia - why would I - I’ve never had any kink involving anyone and anything, ever - especially not involving lab coats and goggles - besides, how can I know that you’re not throwing me off?”

Lydia could have laughed. The light turns green again. “We’re almost at Danny’s.”

His cheeks are slowly turning back pale. “Awesome, I’m starving.” Lydia looks at him in disbelief. “I’m a twenty-year-old man with biological needs!”

Lydia stops a block before Danny’s house. Stiles gets out first to open her door, handling with perfection the role of the gentleman.

“Do we hold hands, or…?” he asks, suddenly at loss as they walk to the front door.

Lydia grabs his arm as an answer, and knocks with her right hand.

“Hey!” shouts Danny, opening the door and smiling down at her. “Lydia! How long’s it been?”

“Too long.” she replies, smiling widely. “I missed you, Daniel.”

She hugs him, and as they retract, Danny’s gaze falls on Stiles who’s awkwardly waiting to be noticed.

“Hi. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before-”

Lydia jumps in. “Danny, this is my boyfriend, Stiles.” She grabs again his arm and gives him her best grin.

Danny’s eyebrows fly up to the middle of his forehead. “Okay.” he lets out, surprised. “I didn’t expect you to bring a date. Last time, with Jackson…”

“Don’t worry about him.” she says quickly.

Danny nods, understanding. “Yeah. You know he used to be my best friend, but he really was a douche to you.” He extends his hand for Stiles. “Welcome in, Stiles. Don’t break Lydia’s heart or you’ll regret it.”

“You got it.” says Stiles, hoping that finger-pistoling Danny does the trick and makes the guy become his best friend on the spot. Danny stares at his best imitation of a stormtrooper’s blaster, shakes his head and goes back inside his own house without a single word.

“Well, that was just _great._ ” Lydia says dryly, before joining Danny.

Stiles winces and runs to follow her, closes the door behind, because he is her date after all, fake or not.

He quickly learns that people go to Danny’s parties to forget it all, even themselves.

A group of girls giggles in front of him and he flattens against the nearest wall. The truth is, he’s never actually been to parties. Real ones. He doesn’t really like parties, thinks it’s a social anxiety thing. It’s an old and cheap excuse, still relevant, but today he likes to think that parties just aren’t his thing. He’d rather spend the night with Scott in their apartment near the uni and play on their xbox.

Somehow, Lydia’s hand grazes against his and he lets her pull him through the long hallways, occasionally stopping for a warm smile and a hug to girls and boys Stiles doesn’t know.

They end up right next to the booze table. Eminem is pouring out of the amplifiers. Stiles knows his ears won’t stop ringing that night.

He starts to regret ever agreeing to all of this.

“You okay?”

He doesn’t know how he picks up on her through the deafening beat, but he does, and looks down at her.

“Yeah. I’m fine.” He forces a smile on his lips, grabs the nearest beer.

“You know I need you to stay conscious.” says Lydia, joking lightly.

“Just taking a few swigs.” he replies as he does so. He puts down the can. He doesn’t know why he took the beer in particular, he has never been a fan of this liquor. “For composure.”

He knows Lydia is watching him so he pretends to look at the swarming, dancing crowd of drunk young-adults. Danny is in a corner, making out with some blonde dude. Many other couples seem tangled up into each other, and Stiles sees a threesome having fun behind the couch.

He grips the can again and takes another swig.

Lydia’s gaze drills a hole into the side of his face.

“Not a big fan of crowds, are you?” she says slowly.

He nods reluctantly. He’s about to take another swig when Lydia pulls the beer away from him.

“I told you I want you sober.” she pretends. “Besides, alcohol doesn’t help. Trust me, I tried.”

He blinks, surprised. Figures she’s right. He straightens his collar and makes the bones of his neck crack. “Fine. Should we see your friends?”

“It’s probably best, before everyone falls into an ethylic coma.” She takes him by the arm again, pulls him more gently than when they showed up at Danny’s doorstep. “Come on.”

He lets her take him away from the booze, away from awful memories of his dad, to a second hallway, this one occupied by a staircase and a door that probably opens to the toilets since a long queue of girls spreads before it.

Lydia is still tied to his arm as they navigate through the queue. She doesn’t hesitate to give cold stares to an underage boy. Though taller than her, he backs away. Stiles jostles past him, surprised by the look of fear and respect on the boy’s face, vaguely wonders what Lydia is known for.

Lydia makes the French door slide open. A delicate breeze welcomes them. Stiles tries to forget how light-headed he’s starting to feel as Lydia leads him determinedly to a group of three people laughing together.

One of the two girls in the group smiles wide as she sees her coming, and hugs her tight.

“I knew you could make it, Lydia.”

Lydia’s grin reaches her ears, and she shakes Stiles’s arms like an enamoured fourteen-year-old. Stiles feels incredibly stupid.

“Guys, this is Stiles. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but he’s my boyfriend.”

It’s not the brown-headed girl Lydia hugged who shrieks, but the other girl at her side.

“Oh my God, Lydia!” she says with a high-pitched voice. “Are you okay?”

Lydia blinks, then giggles. Stiles thinks it’s the grossest sound that’s ever escaped her mouth. “Of course I am! Why would you ask that?”

“It’s just…” the dark-haired says, twiddling with her fingers. “You never date, right? I mean, that’s what you told me, that you were done with dating boys-”

“Don’t ruin the mood, Kira!” the first girl laughs. “As for me, I’m delighted to hear the news. I’m Allison, nice to meet you officially, Stiles.”

Stiles smiles and shakes her hand. “Lydia told me about you.”

Allison side-eyes her best friend who winks. “What did she tell you?”

All of the gazes are on him now and he feels like he has to go to the board to answer a math question like it’s high school all over again. The boy with the scarf can’t stop frowning.

Stiles clears his throat. “Well, Lydia” he squeezes her hand and Lydia devours him with her eyes “told me you were her bestie.” He knows he did the right thing when he sees Allison grin and Kira clap, a glimmer in her eyes. “She also said that you were an amazing archer. And an ass-kicker.”

“Watch out for your ass, Stiles!” laughs Allison, and he sees her leaning to Lydia as he laughs too. “How is his ass, by the way?” she whispers.

“I’ll make him turn around.” Lydia whispers back. She looks back at Stiles who starts to feel cramps from smiling too much. “Hey, babe, can you go grab me a glass of wine?”

“No problem.” he replies, feeling a blush he can’t control creep up his cheeks. He’s never been called ‘babe’ before but he oddly likes the sound of it in Lydia’s mouth.

“I’ll take a good old 7Up.” Kira steps in.

“Isaac, you want anything?” asks Allison gently, nudging her boyfriend who’s been silent since.

The blond boy, with the very sharp jaw and the bluest eyes, shakes his head. “I’ll get my own drink myself.”

He walks past Stiles before Allison can stop him, and disappears inside the crowded house.

“I hate it when he does that.” sighs Allison, angrily twisting her braid.

“What’s gotten into him?” asks Stiles.

“He’s rude with all of my boyfriends, don’t take it personally.” replies Lydia quickly. She sees the interrogation mark above his head, and lowers her voice. “He used to have a crush on me when we were in high school, and he can’t seem to get over it.”

“But aren’t he and Allison dating?” he says.

“They are. It’s just complicated. ... _Stiles_.”

“Yeah?”

“ _The_ _drinks_.”

“Absolutely.”

The girls laugh as he runs into the house, following Isaac’s steps with less coordinated movements.

Allison bites her lower lip. “You’re right, Lydia. His ass looks too damn nice in these pants.”

“Back off…!” says Lydia playfully.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare! But I’m really surprised, and proud of you for that one. You chose wisely. What’s your opinion about him, Kira?”

Lydia looks around at the smaller girl, eager to hear her point of view.

The geekiest of the three opens wide eyes as she suddenly becomes the center of attention. “Huh… I… ” she manages to stutter. “Why are you asking me? In particular - I mean, the decision is up to Lydia - if she thinks he matches her taste, I say she keeps him-”

Lydia rolls her eyes for the hell of it. “Come on, katana-wielder. Just say what you’ve been dying to say.”

Kira freezes for a couple of seconds. “Do you know if he liked the most recent Marvels?”

“I do; and he has.”

“Yes!” Kira’s shining toothy smile probably competes with the light of the stars above.

Stiles is taking his time with the drinks, but on the plus side, it allows Allison to question Lydia even more.

“So…” she begins, her gaze swiftly circling the outdoor partygoers enjoying the calming breeze, before looking back at her best friend. “How did you meet him?”

Lydia notices the way she still bites her lip and the dimple on her cheek as her beam widens, just as she does every time she’s taking interest in a romantic situation.

‘Perfect.’ she thinks. She loves it when her plans unfold the exact way she wants them to.

“Ironically, at a party just like this one, a week ago.” she answers, smiling as though recalling fresh memories she never had. “He fell on me. In the literal sense of the word. I guess you’ve noticed how bad his motor coordination is?”

Kira nods. “He’s even worse than me. Remember the time I fell off the stairs?”

“It was epic.” agrees Allison.

“Well, when he fell on me and spilled my drink, I knew he was the one.”

Allison frowns suspiciously. “I’m sorry, come again?”

Lydia snorts. “I’m messing with you. No, I did not think he was the one, in fact I was really pissed off after he helped me up. Almost kicked him in the balls. But then he offered to give his shirt because mine was ruined, and… things happened.”

Allison almost shrieks again and Kira’s eyes bulge out of her head.

“So that’s why you’ve been checking your phone insistently the other day!” the archer whistles appreciatively.

Lydia lowers her head, therefore hiding her smirk behind her hair. “You got me.”

Meanwhile, Stiles is having issues.

He had been about to fetch the requested drinks at the snacks bar, but had been stepped on by a guy whose feet were the size of his head, pulled away from the living-room by a girl whose wig threatened to fall off her head any second. He had really thought she had wanted to smack him right on the mouth when another girl had came to his rescue and taken the very drunk woman away, to Stiles’s huge relief. That’s when his gaze had locked with the other girl’s.

And right now his legs feel like unmovable stones. Or jelly, he’s not too sure.

Malia slides to his level. Keeps a reasonable distance between the two of them, close enough to hear each other’s voices clearly through the music, far enough to let dancers  and a plump drag queen glide between the two of them.

“Killer party, huh?” he says over the beats of Nicki Minaj’s Monster echoing inside his chest.

Malia’s gaze on his face makes him uncomfortable.

“How are you doing?” she says in a rush, a slight wince pulling at the corners of her mouth as if the sentence had been painful to pull out of her throat.

Stiles is surprised, really, and he can’t help but smile. She’s made visible progress on her social skills since he last saw her. Which means that she could really handle herself without him.

“Good.” he replies, the tension on his shoulders lightening a little. “What about you?”

“I’m fine.” she says, tensely observing the crowd around them. “I don’t like it here.” she confesses after a few seconds of silence. “Can we go somewhere else?”

“Yeah.” he answers, and they walk out of the living-room, up the stairs. They find themselves in a bedroom, Stiles shuts the door behind him as Malia sits on the bed with a sigh.

“That’s better.” she says, massaging her temples. “I’m not used to being around that many people at once.”

Stiles chuckles humorlessly. “You tell me.”

He’s not sure what to do with his limbs so instead of just standing in front of her, he sits at her side. To his relief, Malia doesn’t inch closer to him.

“I meant to thank you.” he speaks up after a minute of silence. “For giving me this ‘job’, with air quotes.”

“I figured you’d like her.” she replies, staring at a computer on the desk in front of them. Stiles realizes just now that they are in Danny’s room. “Do you?”

“What?”

“Do you like her?”

Stiles nods without thinking twice. “She’s great. She’s… _something_.”

He sees but doesn’t understand Malia’s smile, quickly hidden. “We’re in this martial arts group together. She’s not doing as good as me, but she learns fast. I don’t know what suddenly hit her, but one day she went to talk to me after practice. She asked me if I could train her personally a little every week so she could improve and beat this other guy in the group. She hates his guts because he swaggers and parades constantly _and_ he’s a level above her. And I agreed, became her personal trainer.

“She asked me how I could keep long nails and fight at the same time. I told her that I ate them. And she asked me if I wanted to get a coffee with her. She could have just dropped the subject and let me go, leave it at fighting on a mat twice a week, but instead she really wanted to speak with me, get to know me. She asked where I went to cut my hair that way, if I would like to have my ears pierced, what I liked to do on my own and what I liked to do with people. Who I liked to be.

“She noticed I brought manuals to practice, and she asked if she could look at them. And she helped me study sometimes. We studied together after practice, and I started to realize that even though I hated shopping, I really liked her as a friend.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed that, but Lydia has this thing, that makes people instantly like her. A vibe. I don’t know how to describe it.”

“No, I think I get what you’re trying to say.” he murmurs, thinking about the roll of her eyes every time he speaks and the nest she’s made for him beside her bed.

Malia nods. “Anyway, last week she called me, asked me for a request. I immediately thought about you. Figured you’d go along well.”

Stiles almost scoffs. “She’s way out of my league.”

“Maybe, but then why did she choose you?”

Stiles doesn’t know how to reply to that. Malia stands up and looks down at him critically. “You really hurt me that day, you know. But I learnt to get over it, and now I realize that it’s the best thing that could ever happen to me. You sent me free.”

Stiles is not sure that he had really meant it that way when he broke up with her, but he’s not going to stop this moment that is visibly incredibly intense for Malia.

Malia holds out a hand. “Thanks, Stiles.”

He gets on his feet, takes her hand, shakes it. “Does that mean that we’re good?”

Malia flashes him a smile, the most genuine he’s ever seen on her usually stone-cold features. “We’re good.”

His grin matches hers, and instantly turns into a shocked grimace when he hears her next words.

“But we’re definitely not good if you fuck things up with Lydia. She’s my friend and I care about her whether I like it or not.”

He throws his arms up in the air, bewildered. “For the last time Malia, Lydia and I are not together! You should know that, you’re the one that set us up-”

“I don’t give a damn.” says Malia aggressively. “You hurt her, I push into your eyes with my fingers until your brain comes out of the orbits.”

Stiles feels sick. “That was incredibly well painted, but I got the message. _Geez_ , thanks, Malia!”

Lydia is giggling with Allison when he comes back with the drinks. He holds out her glass of wine, gives Kira her 7Up. The dark-haired girl blushes furiously as she takes the red cup and almost spills the contents on the grass out of excitement.

“Hey.” she calls out rather uselessly as Stiles is standing right in front of her. “I was wondering…” One glance at her friends’ encouraging expressions gives her the courage she needs. “I was wondering if you liked the Winter Soldier?”

Stiles’s eyes widen instantly. “Are you kidding me?!” he shouts. “It’s my fav-fucking-orite Marvel so far!”

He suddenly tenses, side eyes Lydia, fearing he’s done something bad like showing off his inner fanboy. Fortunately, Lydia seems pleased and Kira almost bursts with excitement.

He and Kira are still talking restlessly an hour later, now arguing about whether or not Rey is Luke’s daughter.

“She has every chance of being his kid, okay?” he says, flailing his arms around. “She’s a natural fighter, she controls the Force with as much or even more power than he’s got, she even has memories of a dude leaving her on Jakku with the Millennium Falcon! And, icing on the cake: she wears Luke’s helmet in one scene! It’s called foreshadowing, period.”

Kira still doesn’t seem on board. “But George Lucas specifically said in an interview that Rey _isn’t_ Luke’s child. With who could he have had a kid with anyways?”

“I don’t know, some chick with a one-armed kink. But can’t you see the connections here?!”

Lydia, who was on her way back from the bathroom to touch up her makeup, taps Stiles’s shoulder. “Guys, I’m sure this conversation is top priority, but Danny’s going to give his speech any minute now.”

Stiles narrows his eyes. “You’re right, this conversation is top priority, which is why Rey has to-”

“No.” says Lydia before he has the chance to fight back. She’s quickly getting to know him and she knows now that it’s mandatory to stop him before he digs himself his own grave. “This is Danny’s speech I’m talking about. No one is allowed to go AWOL on this.”

“I’m sorry, who put you in charge?”

“Everyone in this place, and at the same time, no one.”

“Well let me just say that I really don’t like your tone, Martin. Very patronizing. Very… tyrant-y.”

“Mmh, I don’t know if you’ve taken Latin class, Stilinski - my guess is that you haven’t - but I’ll let you know that a tyrant is a ruler that’s been put on the throne by the clapping crowd. Therefore, I do think I am a tyrant.”

“Your primer supposition is right but the rest of this sentence is outstandingly stuck in BC. We’re in the twenty-first century! Languages change and words transform.”

“Please, Stilinski. Don’t try to get clever with me, I outsmart you at everything.”

“Uh, that’s funny, because I think I remember that one time when you-”

Kira’s badly hidden giggle cuts them off. Lydia glares at her.

“I’m sorry.” the girl chuckles, her voice indicating that she isn’t sorry in the slightest. “It’s just- I’ve never seen Lydia like that before. You guys are really good together!”

Her words struck a chord inside Lydia’s stomach and she almost instinctively turns her head to Stiles. His gaze drops on her at the same time. His eyes widen minutely and his apprehension comes off as a tense chuckle.

“Next stop Hollywood.” he says a little too quickly.

Lydia slowly nods as he staggers frontwards a few steps, stopping to wait for her to join him.

“You coming?”

Lydia is having trouble sticking this perfected smile on her face, but she does eventually and smiles at him. “Right behind you.”

Her smile leaks imperceptibly down her chin as she thinks that they hadn’t been acting at all.

*

He falls back into his nest with a contented groan, struggling against the wave of drowsiness flowing his brain that’s already fighting off the alcohol.

“Incessant talking wears me down.” he says, feeling like his tongue weighs a ton, and he buries his face into the soft sheets.

“You talk incessantly.” says Lydia on her own bed near him, voice barely a breath.

He shrugs. “I guess I wear myself down, then.”

He hears Lydia’s badly hidden chuckle and smiles. “You wear me down.” she says back sleepily.

“That was real mature of you, Martin. I expected better from you.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Comfortable silence falls between the two. He wriggles under the covers after taking his shoes off, too tired to remove the rest of his clothes. Lydia’s voice revives as he’s close to close his eyes.

“You did good today.”

He observes the ceiling and the glow-in-the-dark stars scattered across its whiteness.

“Allison likes you.” continues Lydia. “Kira probably does as well since she’s desperate to watch _Daredevil_ with you. Danny even said that you were invited to his next party, which says a lot, coming from him.”

Stiles is surprised. He was certain that he had blown his chances with the guy by finger-pistoling him. “Danny likes me?”

“He didn’t explicitly say it, but he heavily suggested the fact that you seemed less dull than the previous ones.”

“About that…” he says carefully.

“No, Stiles.”

He doesn’t always know when he’s crossed the barrier of privacy, but somehow, he feels like he should back away before he hurts her. However, he is never in control of his goddamn mouth.

“Should we make sex noises?”

“We’re alone in the apartment and I don’t have any neighbors.”

“Okay.”

 

*

 

 _Stiles_ |3:29| _: you received what i sent u?_

 _Lydia_ |3:40| _: course I did_

 _Stiles_ |3:41| _: so what do you think?;)_

 _Lydia_ |3:43| _: I think it’s an amazement that a boy like you manages to get laid from time to time._

 _Stiles_ |3:44| _: i am shocked. horrified. aghast. shook. what have i done to the world to deserve this_

 _Lydia_ |3:45| _: You came into it and it got pissed._

 _Lydia_ |3:45| _: Now can I /please/ know why you’re sending to me an entire essay about the evolution of torture methods in mankind history? And why you’re doing it at three in the morning?_

 _Stiles_ |3:46| _: idk I was bored_

 _Lydia_ |3:48| _: I’ve been keeping track of all the mistakes you wrote._

 _Stiles_ |3:49| _: shit I really poured my soul into this! where was i wrong?_

 _Lydia_ |3:42| _: Bamboo torture has only been used in East and South Asia. And you cannot count beheading as torture._

 _Stiles_ |3:43| _: k but there are ways to behead slowly. The axe/sword/wtv can be blunted so it takes a longer time for the guy to die, look at Headless Nick_

 _Lydia_ |3:44| _: Headless Nick is a fictional character and a ghost. Plus, let me remind you that torture is used to make people confess their crimes, and beheading leads to a certain death and the inability to speak for the captive since his vocal cords get touched._

 _Stiles_ |3:45| _: but what if you chop the guys head bit by bit?_

 _Lydia_ |3:45| _: No, still doesn’t work. Beheading is a way of killing, not torturing._

 _Stiles_ |3:46| _: goddamnit_

 _Lydia_ |3:47| _: Oh, and the first Iron Maiden was invented in Germany, not China. And please do not confuse the band and the coffin again._

 _Stiles_ |3:47| _: i did not confuse the band and the coffin, i just wrote a little biography of its singer but i forgot to detach it from the essay sorry_

 _Stiles_ |3:48| _: lydia what are u doing still up at 4am?_

 _Lydia_ |3:49| : _I was sleeping. And you woke me up._

 _Stiles_ |3:40| _: u could have just ignored my msg, yknow._

 _Lydia_ |3:41| _: Didn’t feel like it. And your essay was a good read still. What are /you/ doing still up?_

 _Stiles_ |3:45| _: can’t sleep either. Scott is snoring_

 _Lydia_ |3:46| _: This is why I don’t do flatmates._

 _Stiles_ |3:46| _: oh but i would never push scotty out. usually i whistle twice and he goes silent_

 _Lydia_ |3:47| _: I was thinking about deepening our so-called relationship._

 _Stiles_ |3:47| _: wow_

 _Stiles_ |3:47| _: i mean ok, what do you have in mind?_

 _Lydia_ |3:48| _: At what time do you start your first class tomorrow?_

 _Stiles_ |3:49| _: you mean today lol_

 _Stiles_ |3:49| _: ten, but it’s a one-time-thing_

 _Lydia_ |3:50| _: Good, you can take me to my first class this morning, this way I can show you around._

 _Stiles_ |3:55| _: you mean show me around, as in introduce me as your boyfriend to your uni._

 _Lydia_ |3:56| _: Yes._

 _Stiles_ |4:00| _: k, I’ll do it._

 

*

 

She accepts Stiles’s old Jeep willy-nilly and jumps in it with a scowl, keeping him under close watch. She sips the coffee he’s bought her, crosses her legs and watches the other cars run by them, notices the faint smell of cheap cologne on the flannel he’s wearing and the intense french fries smell that seems to constantly overpower the stench of the primeval automobile. Stiles has spiked up his hair today too, and smiles tensely as she indicates him which road to take.

“You should’ve taken the wheel.” he says between clenched teeth.

“No way I’m driving this piece of crap.” she retorts, her hands wrapped around her coffee to warm her up.

He shoots her the equivalent of a very fast eyeroll before going back to the road. “This piece of crap is a baby sister to me.”

Lydia snorts. “It’s older than you by a century.”

“Oh, I’m definitely not talking to you until you’ve apologized to her.”

“Boy, you are in deep, giving pronouns to an inanimate object…”

“At least this object takes me wherever I want, whereas other people just like to throw me around, expecting nothing but submission from me.”

She looks over at him, startled. He keeps staring at the road ahead, frowning distinctly as some road hog decides to overtake him by the right.

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.” she mumbles, blowing on the strand of steam flying out of her coffee.

His frown deepens. Lydia keeps sipping the coffee he’s bought her, realizing just now that she might be completely irrational and unfair. Though apologizing is out of question. She squeezes the coffee between her thighs and purses her lips.

She has no idea how long he’s been driving to get to her place because she doesn’t know where he lives, and doesn’t even want to hear about where he lives. She already knows that he’s a student in criminology who shares a flat with his best friend, which is on the verge of infringement of privacy. Judging by the bags under his eyes, he’s woken up too early for a guy whose classes start at ten, although he’s taken the time to shave, gel his hair with the same impressive amount as usual and get her morning treat.

She shrugs internally. His clean appearance and care towards her only mean that he’s a legit guy in whom she can put her trust and secret. Nothing more.

They pull into a packed parking lot so they can stand in broad daylight. She appreciates his ingenuity and gathers her stuff as he jumps out of the vehicle, darts to open her door before she can unbuckle her seatbelt.

She gets out and smoothes down the creases in her skirt, grumbling quietly about the smell of the car that has overcome her perfume.

“Thank you.” she grunts. His bad mood is contagious.

“Any time.” he growls back, slamming her door shut.

This morning just seems perfect.

She power-walks alone on the sidewalk next to the palmtrees. The faint sound of his snickers hitting the pavement along with her own heels make her turn her head violently.

“What are you doing?” she asks, exasperated.

“Getting you to your first class.” he says. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

She huffs in annoyance. “I just wanted a ride so that people-” her scowl switches into a dazzling smile as a group of girls peeps at them without even trying to hide their curiosity. “could see us.”

“Nope.” he says, making the ‘p’ pop in his mouth. She squints at the cheerfulness of his voice that contrasts abruptly with his previous frustration. “You wanted everyone to see us. Come on. Everyone has to see us. We’re John and Jackie fucking Kennedy.”

He slides an arm around her waist and she widens her eyes, disliking his spontaneity. He is way too changeable to her taste.

They power-walk together inside the campus, their steps cadenced by both of their irascibility. Lydia doesn’t fail to notice whispers and tilts her chin up, strengthens her grip on her coffee and squeezes tight his hand in hers. Soon, she realizes that he leads the way rather than her and she quirks an eyebrow.

“How do you know where I’m taking my classes?”

“I looked the campus up on Google Image and Map.” he replies matter-of-factly.

“I never told you what class I’m having first hour every monday morning.”

He shrugs. “It was easy. You’re a sophomore in human biology but, even though you’re the smartest one yet, you’re not the only one. People like to complain about their timetable on Facebook.”

He tells her this as if tracking down people is a normal thing to do. She gapes. Doesn't forget the compliment.

“You found me on Facebook?”

“Well, there’s only one Lydia Martin…”

“You looked me up on Google.”

“Was that a question?”

“Stiles. Are you _stalking_ me?”

“Oh, that one’s a question. Huh, no, I’m not stalking you, pshh, I’m just indirectly checking who I’m dealing with. You could be a wanted vigilante for all I know!”

She rolls her eyes. “A wanted vigilante.” she echoes mockingly. “No less! Obviously, I walk the mist of the night and chase down cold-blooded murderers with a whip.”

Stiles trips over a lonely skateboard and looks up at her, embarrassed. Lydia glares briefly at the owner of the skateboard and squints back at Stiles who swallows thickly.

“What?” she snaps.

He shakes his head. “Nothing.” he says quickly. “Just… for a moment I pictured you as Catwoman.”

“And?”

He shakes his head again. “Nothing. People are starting to stare.”

“Good. Let them.”

She swoops past him, feeling the warmth of his gaze on her back. Stiles has to jog to get back to her and he holds the door of the building open so that Lydia can stride down the hallway, barely flashing him the shadow of a smile.

She stops in front of her class. Stiles imitates her dutifully. She turns around. Clears her throat.

“Thank you for giving me a ride.”

He lets the corners of his mouth slide up. They’re in public, there’s no time to let anything real push through the mask. “Any time.” he repeats, still meaning it.

She inches closer to him, not really sure what to do, and he leans forward to drop off a light kiss at the corner of her lips. She almost groans. There’s no way he can be any lamer at this.

“See you tonight.” he says briskly, holding her hand with a smile before letting it go and taking off. He looks back to wave at her. She’s already entered the classroom.

She knows he knows they won’t see each other tonight, which is why she doesn’t understand the slightest twinge of disappointment in his voice.

 

*

 

She meets Ryan during a break. He asks her the way to the arts class and she ends up fucking him in his duplex, enjoying her freedom and how perfectly unaware he is of her fake relationship with Stiles.

It’s her body, and she’s allowed to do whatever she wants with it. It’s her body, and she powers it up with cherry red lipstick, three inches heels, a man’s rough hands and the reassuring absence of love.

 

*

 

It becomes a routine, him bringing her coffee and taking her to Stanford when he can, her taming her hair and smoothing down her skirt before climbing into his car, them bickering like old people all the way and even after.

Lydia often grunts with annoyance and Stiles likes to tease her with bemused smiles and cheerful bounces when he accompanies her to her class. He’s even befriended a couple of Lydia’s admirators, to the strawberry-blonde’s intense irritation.

“You can't just _befriend_ people.” she scolds.

“We like the same comics!” he replies, almost running to follow her pace.

“You’re my fake date. You don't get to befriend people that you won't see ever again in your life in about two months.”

“A lot of things can happen in two months.” he says mysteriously. “And think about the practical side of befriending them: they’ll think I'm a good guy, and will eventually fall in love with me.”

“Count on that.”

“I'm not kidding! I’ve planned this through very cautiously and there’s no way these guys don't like me. I'm very likeable.”

She shakes her head incredulously. “That’s weird, it doesn't feel like your super power works on me.”

“Sometimes it takes some time to work.” he promises.

“Can your head get any bigger?”

“Oh, this is just an act. I'm literally shaking on the inside.”

“You know I could fire you, right?”

“How can you fire me if you don't even pay me?”

“Stop asking questions and turn on the engine of your stupid car. I need my caffeine to bear the sight of you.”

“You apologize to her.”

 

*

 

Stiles is in her bedroom, covers pulled to his head, stomach first when she violently opens the blinds to let the early morning light in. To her surprise, he barely flinches and simply turns his head to the other side, moaning something gibberish. Lydia smiles at his cheeks flushed with an excess of rest and his hair pressed against his forehead, deprived of gel for once. She likes how he is in the morning, when he’s about to wake up and is just learning how to regain control of his limbs.

She likes how quiet and calm he is in the morning, but she likes his scrambled eggs most.

(she still hasn’t told him that she can’t cook but she suspects he’s guessed that already)

Lydia looks down at him a couple of seconds more than she’s intended it then pokes his forehead.

His eyes pop open instantly and he squints in front of the light.

“Whatz going on?” he asks groggily, running a hand over his sleepy eyes.

Lydia continues to smile contently. Stiles looks around, taking in his nest on the ground and the purple sheets compressing him onto Lydia’s bed. He doesn’t ask how he’s ended up in her bed, nor does she explain.

“What time is it?” he asks, slowly sitting up, voice gravelly.

“Ten past. I woke up an hour ago.”

“‘kay. ‘M gonna make you some eggs.”

Lydia hides rather badly her startled smile but he doesn’t seem to notice, and scrambles out of the bed, tripping over a pillow from his nest on the floor. He yawns and scratches his tummy on his way to the kitchen.

They watch the coffee brew together and he makes her two scrambled eggs, arranging them like two comical eyes in her plate, uses a piece of fried bacon as a grinning mouth. She rolls her eyes but hums in thanks, watching the condensation slip away from the windows and Stiles busying himself around the stove. Winter is at their door and knocks louder every day. It’s already late November, and California shouldn’t be hit by the sudden breeze coming from the Northern States, yet they are already starting to feel the irrevocable change in the air and the people.

Lydia likes the winter. It’s just like Stiles in the morning.

“How was I yesterday?” he asks suddenly, setting his plate in front of hers and sitting down.

“You didn’t embarrass me to death.” she replies jokingly, shoving the fork in her mouth. “Yes, you drank a little too much but you didn’t say anything that could have seriously damaged our reputation, which is providential, considering the fact that Isaac had to help you to my bedroom because you kept mistaking walls for doors.”

“Oh, so that’s why I was in your bed. Sorry about that. Where did you sleep?”

Lydia presses her lips tight together. “In my bed.”

Stiles frowns. “Wait-”

“Yes, in my bed _with you_. I wasn’t going to sleep on the floor, was I?”

“No- geez, Lyds, you could have just woken me up and I would’ve left!”

Lydia doesn’t comment on the nickname. Shakes her head. “It’s okay.” she says almost half-heartedly. “You were too passed out to bother me trashing around anyway.”

He chortles and moves his hand to grab the orange juice, the warmth of his skin tickling against her arm.

“Your friends have to take me for an idiot now.”

“What makes you think they didn’t already?”

He snorts. “Very true, though rude.”

“Truth hurts, sweetheart.”

“Nah, Lydia Martin hurts. I was very much at peace until you came stumbling into my life; the only person I got drunk with was Scott, I didn’t go to parties and I could stare at girls’ cleavages without wondering if I was cheating on my fake girlfriend or not.”

She was about to bite into her piece of bacon, but stops halfway through the gesture, considering him with an half-amused half-incredulous expression that she often wears when he speaks.

“I didn’t stumble into your life.”

“You kinda did.”

“I’ll let you know that you are the one that said yes to be my girlfriend. No one forced you into anything. Plus, I don’t see you wailing on the floor, complaining to everyone who asks that I’m the evillest monster you’ve ever faced.”

“I wail sometimes, but it’s because you’re not around.”

“You’re an hopeless romantic.”

“No, that’s Scott’s Wikipedia description. I’m more like a desperate yet down-to-earth kind of guy. Let’s say, there’s this girl that I like, and she doesn’t like me back, so all I’ll do is carefully send her dithyrambs from afar.”

Lydia has to stop once again chewing her bacon. “Dithyrambs?” she repeats.

“Yeah, you know, panegyrics. Praises.”

“Why are we talking about dithyrambs again?”

“I don’t know, I found this word yesterday at the back of a cereal box, I thought it was cool.”

Lydia nods and sips her iced chocolate just to hide her smile. Stiles looks down at his scrambled eggs with a slight twinkle in his eyes.

They clear the table after they’ve finished eating and Stiles pushes her away when she tries to do the dishes, argues with Lydia over her choice of washing liquid as he takes the sponge from her hands. Lydia huffs loudly and makes her way to the bathroom to brush her teeth and blatantly ignores him as he follows her a few minutes later to snatch the spare toothbrush he always leaves at her place just in case. She does her makeup carefully, lifting an eyelid to apply the smooth line of black liner, coloring her lips with her favorite cherry red. Side-eyes him distractedly as she powders her cheeks, painting them with a bright pink. He watches her silently, vigorously brushing his teeth, drumming his left hand on the sink along with the beat in his head.

Lydia narrows her gaze at his fingers. “AC/DC?”

Stiles nods a bit too emphatically, and lowers his head to spit in the sink. “Thunderstruck.” he replies, turning on the faucet, filling the glass and washing his mouth. “I’m surprised you noticed.”

“You forced me to listen to this song on our way to Allison’s two days ago.”

“I didn’t force you to listen to it.” he retorts, running a hand over his little bit of a scruff.

“You turned the volume to its maximum and opened the windows so the poor pedestrians could enjoy the blast.”

“At least it’s good music. Youngsters tend to forget what good old rock is, it’s a shame.”

“Stiles. I can’t concentrate when you talk.”

He turns to to Lydia, who is sitting on the toilet lid and applying her mascara. His hand goes to brush her cheek and she jumps slightly. “You forgot this little spot.” he says good-heartedly.

“I was about to fix it!” she replies as he jolts out of the bathroom with merry little jumps.

“Whatever you say!” she hears him say from the bedroom.

He’s pulling a blue shirt over his head as she comes into the room and opens her closet, thinking a moment then clutching at a high-waisted skirt and a three-quarter-sleeved top.

“What are we gonna do today?” he asks as he puts on a red flannel over his shirt.

Lydia locks herself in the bathroom to change. “Allison wants to go shopping, her purse is over a year-old. I’m her personal stylist.”

“You want me to go with you?” she hears behind the door.

“I don’t know. She isn’t taking Isaac with her, so I guess it’s a ‘girls only’ thing. But we could grab lunch together, she likes you.”

“Fine by me. I’ll check on Scott this morning, I haven’t seen him in three days and I hope he hasn’t adopted a street dog. He does that sometimes.”

“I own a dog.” comments Lydia distractedly, sliding the straps of her bra up her shoulders.

“You own a- where is it then?”

“Oh, it’s at my mom’s house.” she continues, trying on the top, totally unaware that she’s violating one of the most important rules of their deal. “There’s a garden there, and Prada can go out anytime she wants. She’d get bored pretty quickly in the loft.”

“I bet you’re the little dog kind.”

She purses her lips with annoyance. “What if I am?”

“Then you owe me ten dollars.”

Lydia puts on her skirt and smoothes the creaks with her palm. “You owe yourself ten dollars, since you played with yourself.”

“You know I can’t resist that kind of joke.”

She opens the door to see him arms crossed and a playful smirk on his lips right in front of her, and only then, rolls her eyes so hard her vision goes blurry.

“Resist.” she says with a quirk of the eyebrow.

Looking down at her, Stiles shakes his head softly, his smirk turning into something lighter. “Can’t.” he breathes out.

In the end, it’s her who chooses to leave. Moves past him, shoulder brazing his arm, slides her feet into a pair of heels, snatches her apartment keys from the hook on the door and waits for him to go down the stairwell. Sometimes she can feel his hand against the small of her back, never pushing her forward or leading the way, simply there as the satellite of her star.

  


*

 

The next time they fall asleep in the same bed together, it isn't an accident.

She actually forgets to make his nest and is too tired to ask the neighbor two stairs down for a spare mattress, and refuses for Stiles to sleep on the tiny couch. They wriggle around until they’re both on a different edge, so much space between them they could probably fit two Allison.

She listens to his breathing, wishing he would break the deafening silence. He doesn't and stays intensely still, like the smallest twinge could shatter the fragile wall of glass carefully set between their two bodies. They are rock statues until Lydia’s electric alarm clock with the purple display shows midnight, until they realize the sheet covering them is sliding perpetually to one side to another every ten minutes, eventually leaving either Stiles either Lydia bare of the warmth and weight of the sheet; until Stiles finally rolls on his back and stares at the glow-in-the-dark stars on her ceiling.

Lydia slows down her breathing, pretends to be asleep and to be unaware of how Stiles is dying to just twitch and talk.

She feels the slight burn of his eyes at the back of her head and screws hers shut.

Misfortunately, an inopportune yawn comes to uncontrollably spread her lips open and her left hand flies up to her mouth in an attempt to conceal this sign of awakeness. She only realizes her mistake when she hears Stiles’ sigh.

“Can't sleep either, can you?”

It would be incredibly bitchy to refuse to answer, and that’s the story of how they end up talking until the birds start to chirp and until the light starts to creep onto the shadows of the room.

They only fall asleep when Stiles’ phone rings with a message from Scott, who probably wonders when he’ll come back to the flat.

Lydia blesses Saturday mornings, but fails to understand why he has his arms thrown around her and she has her feet tangled into his when they wake up for lunch; but most in the world, she fails to understand why it doesn't bother her at all.

 

*

 

It’s not his fault if his car’s broken down in the middle of the road and he’s had to push it to an empty parking spot. It’s not his fault if he’s had to run all the way down to the café, sweaty and dehydrated, and if he’s almost tumbled onto the floor, numbed and exhausted, as he’s breathlessly pulled out a chair to sit in front of a very pissed Lydia. ‘It’s not my fault’, he keeps telling her. ‘It’s the duct tape.’

Lydia’s glare tells him that he has close to zero chances to win this.

He blinks twice, hopeful. “It’s the duct tape.” he repeats.

“Oh really?” she says dryly. “And why is that?”

“I don’t have the money to take my Jeep to a mechanic!” he cries out, throwing his arms in the air. “I have to wrap the wires with duct tape or else it breaks down, it’s the only way.”

He knows he’s sinking into a hole and his legendary clumsiness is there to drown him even more.

Lydia’s pupils are swallowing him. He can’t look away from the pit; it’s like a rope with a hook pierced into his navel, luring him to this green sea.

“Can’t you just give up on your car and buy a new one?”

He looks away from her mesmerizing eyes, aware that he’s losing control of the events. “Money, remember? I’m broke as hell.”

He feels Lydia’s eyeroll more than he sees it, because his gaze is now locked on her red lips. He’s tried to look elsewhere but every time his eyes fall on her stomach, her breasts or her small fingers, so he figures that looking at her lips is less dangerous. Plus, she has very nice lips to look at. Cherry red.

“I didn’t call you to hear you talk about your broken down car.” She’s meant to say ‘trash’ but the words are stuck in her throat, possibly because it’s too harsh and she’s tired of being mean. “I called you because I need to settle something with you.”

Stiles’s gaze leaves her lips and anxiously goes up to meet her eyes once more. He notices the crease on her brow and the pout she holds in with difficulty. He instantly knows that something’s up and that this something is displeasing her.

“Any time.” he says simply.

She looks at her fingers and fiddles with the ring at her pinkie, sign that she really is anxious.

He’d love to take her hands between his and soothe this crease on her brow, anything to bring back the eyeroll, and the toothy grin, one he’s never seen but knows she’ll one day reveal.

“Allison’s getting suspicious.” she blurts out, unable to meet his eyes. “Actually, Isaac told her that he found it weird for a fresh couple to never kiss or hold hands, and she reported it to me, asked me if I was self-conscious about doing it in public.”

Stiles frowns. “But I literally clung to your waist every time they were there!”

“Well apparently it’s not enough.”

He looks at everywhere but her. He doesn’t know if he likes the turn this has taken or not. He stays motionless for a long while, probably too long a while for his ADHD, and Lydia starts to think that she should act.

“We should practice.” she says, sounding strangled. She quickly composes herself. “As soon as possible.”

“Great.” he utters, unsure whether he should pale or redden. He clears his throat. “Here?”

She gives him a death stare. “No.” she hisses. “I’ll give you a ride to mine.” He nods almost fearfully, but she goes on: “But before I need you to take a shower. I am _not_ kissing a sweaty spaz.”

“I’ll let you know that body-fluids and smells are perfectly natural and you should even be impressed than I can run two miles without having an apoplexy.”

“And I’ll let you know that I’m student in biology that could give you the names of perfectly natural deodorants.”

 

Here they are. Sitting on the little couch, face to face, anxiously waiting for the other to make the first move, yet neither of them do. Stiles smells like Lydia’s shampoo because he’s used her hair product instead of body. It hadn’t been on purpose. Although now he can’t say he regrets smelling like strawberries.

Hands on her lap, she stares at a point below his left cheek, right above the jaw, at a misplaced mole that infuriates her. She _hates_ his moles. They’re everywhere, it’s like his skin is scarred with them, making her want to count and sort them into distinctive piles like the maniac she is.

It’s just a kiss, she decides before leaning toward him. She’s done that a hundred times already. She’s kissed Ryan two weeks ago, she’s kissed Aiden a month back, she’s kissed hundreds to power herself up. That’s what she does.

Their first is wet and sloppy. They don’t really know where to place their mouths and their noses awkwardly bump into each other. Lydia pulls back and unscrews her eyes, shakes her head.

“That won’t do.”

Stiles is staring at her, eyes surprisingly moistened. He blinks twice as if awakening from a deep lethargy. “Yeah, that was terrible.” he says, his words contradicting his expression.

“We should maybe make it look hungrier.” she says slowly, not believing her own choice of words. “You know… passionate.”

He nods, incapable of voicing his thoughts on the matter. Lydia leans in again.

They quickly understand that they’re way too far away from each other. Stiles’s neck is stretched forwards to reach Lydia’s and he feels like a giraffe that is just learning how to drink. Thinking that he doesn’t want to feel like an idiot anymore, he leans in with his whole being. Cradles her face between his hands, pushes her back into the couch. If Lydia is surprised, she doesn’t complain. Her hands go for his face and run over his cheeks, grab his hair and slightly pull on it. Stiles’s groan echoes down her throat and sends chills down her spine. It’s only when she impulsively opens her legs to give him access to her lower half that she realizes that she’s definitely lost control over this.

And that she doesn’t mind in the slightest.

She breaks contact as his right hand is about to snake down her neck.

“I think we’re okay.” she murmurs breathlessly.

Stiles’s gaze can’t leave her lips and she notices that his are red from the lipstick and the chewing. “You sure?” he asks, just as quietly. “We could-”

“I’m sure.”

For half a second, his face is twisted with disappointment. And then he sits up, a grin overcoming his features. “Text me when you need me.” he hastes, before getting on his feet and grabbing his coat.

Lydia slowly stands up, stares at him with confusion as he makes his way to the door and leaves with a fake smile and a red smear.

 

*

 

She doesn’t hear from him for another week. Kira looks very disappointed when she confesses to her that Stiles isn’t feeling well and would rather stay home and recover for now.

Kira’s not the only one to feel disappointed.

Lydia still has the ghost of his kiss on her lips and the shadow of his skin on her body. She can’t help thinking about it as she hugs her coffee close to her chest one day, and as she daydreams in class, her blue fountain pen twiddled between her left index and thumb. She thinks about it in front of this cliché tv show Allison makes her watch, she thinks about it in front of her math homework late at night, her hair up in a bun, her pajamas on, and a feeling of loneliness wrapped around her shoulders like an overprotective best friend.

She can’t help thinking about it when she touches herself one night, too tired to get up and fetch a guy drunk out of his mind at a bar to do the job. In the end, she’s always better on her own.

“You’ve got dark circles under your eyes.” Malia blurts out one day with her usual tact.

Arms crossed, Lydia looks away from the two opponents on the mat and glares at the short-haired girl. There’s no place for pretending. “I don’t sleep well.”

“No kidding. Is this about Stiles?” Lydia is about to tell her to quit it but Malia is faster. “I’m the one that set you guys up, you know. I’m not good at empathizing but maybe I can help you clear your mind.”

Lydia smiles dolefully at the girl.

“I don’t know, I guess I... miss him.” she says, her voice barely an ashamed murmur.

“Stiles?”

“Don’t make me say it again.”

“What happened?”

Lydia takes a deep breath and rubs her temples. “You can imagine what happens during fake-relationships. We… we had to practice to act like a normal couple. And it blew up. He ran away. I should have asked him if he was okay with it, I should have thought about his feelings on the matter but I was just being a selfish bitch who only thought about her own popularity. History repeats itself, as they say.”

She can almost sense the cogwheels spin inside Malia’s brain. “So you made out?”

“We had to.” she breathes out, feeling like she has to justify it, like she has to pretend that “It was purely professional of course, with no hidden intentions. It had to stay that way.”

Malia nods. “I think I get what happened. When I was with Stiles, he tended to get excited too easily-”

Lydia turns her head so fast she hears a vertebra snap. “I’m sorry, what? You were with Stiles? As in, relationship-wise?”

“Yeah.” says Malia as if it’s obvious. “It doesn’t really matter anyway, we’re done, with no hard feelings.”

Lydia tries to smoothen the crease of her brow. Malia is right: there is no need for her to worry. Why would she worry anyways? It’s not like Stiles hadn’t had a life before he barged into hers; it’s not like he isn’t entitled to kiss whoever he wants. If anything, she should be relieved by this information, because it means he’s got experience in this area.

He _has_ experience in this area. She’s seen it, she’s sensed it, she’s tasted it.

“What are you gonna do then?”

Lydia looks up to Malia, who’s staring at her curiously. She shrugs.

“I don’t know, maybe I’ll try to call him again.” she sighs.

Malia nods and starts chewing one of her nails that’s too long for her taste.

“He’ll come back eventually.” she says. “He always does. If he doesn’t, it’s because he thinks it’s hopeless.”

“He’ll come back.” echoes Lydia, nodding forcefully like she’s trying to sink the words into her skull. “We signed a contract, anyway.”

 

*

She tries to call him but even though her finger scrolls all the way down to the ‘S’ category of her contact list, it stops at the call button. It stays hovering above the screen, infuriatingly shaking, until she throws her phone onto her bed where it bounces three times before staying still. Then she waits a whole minute, hoping that he’s heard her distress and calls her back, but he doesn’t, because telepathy isn’t a thing and Lydia Martin’s suddenly become a sissy.

Maybe she is a sissy. But she’s not a sissy that’s going to wait around doing nothing.

“We’re having a break.” she tells Allison on their way to the cinema.

“What happened?” asks her friend worryingly. “Things seemed to go well between you two.”

“We had an argument.” replies Lydia vaguely.

Allison stares back at the road and parks cautiously in front of the theater. “Well, I hope this break doesn’t last too long. Our group got along well with him!”

Lydia doesn’t know what to answer to that so she just shuts her mouth and follows her best friend to this shitty zombie movie that makes her want to rub her eyes with bleach when they get back to the car.

They drive to her apartment, discuss whether or not the females in the movie have been written fairly. For once, Lydia doesn’t pour her soul in the exchange and while Allison makes her her favourite hot chocolate, she wonders if she should write Stiles Stilinski’s name down the ‘exes to avoid’ list.

 

*

“ _Fuck_.”

Her wine spills on the floor as some douchebag steps on her toes. Her eyes shoot death itself but he doesn’t seem to see, too preoccupied by the music that Lydia’s deaf to.

She knows it’s useless to shout at the guy, so she goes on her way, thinking it’s someone else’s business if there’s wine on the floor now.

She pushes her way through the crowd and sits at the bar, anxiously pulling at her ponytail. “You got another glass of wine?” she asks the bartender who nods and gives her what she wants.

She sips her drink as she watches the silent dancing mess. The sound of feet slapping against the floor and people humming to themselves is awkward enough for her to laugh, but she doesn’t feel like it. Silent discos just aren’t that funny without someone to laugh with.

“You too, huh?”

She turns her head to Isaac at the seat next to her. His face is painted with fluorescent green and red, and his headphones coil around his neck, just like Lydia’s.

She gives a shrug.

Isaac brings his whiskey to his lips but coughs instantly, clearly not used to it.

“Why do you drink if you hate it?” Lydia asks quietly.

He gives a shrug.

“Just like you, I guess. Trynna forget.”

“Forget what?”

A shrug again.

“You know. This bullshit nicknamed ‘love’.”

Lydia sighs, finally coming to a realization. “You and Allison are having trouble again.”

“We’ve always had. It’s just worse.”

“Where is she?”

“Outside, she said she needed to clear her mind with fresh air.” There’s a moment of silence punctuated by the sound of people dancing over a silent beat. Lydia’s eyes hover over the crowd, inexplicably searching for a familiar sly smile that she never finds. “I think she’s going to break up with me.”

That seems like typical Allison. Breaking up first so it hurts less. It doesn’t hurt less.

Lydia empties her glass down her throat. She’s already starting to feel slightly dizzy. If it ends up with her riding a guy in the bathroom, she’ll lean on Allison to drive her home. Unless Allison is as wasted as her, in that case she’ll just have to call Malia or some other poor non-judgemental soul.

She orders another glass before some other guy settles next to her. She gives him a side eye, taking in the messy hair, the puppy gaze and the uneven jaw.

He takes a very common beer and smiles at Lydia. She can’t help but smile back.

“Hi.” he says, and she decides that she likes the smoothness of his voice. “You come here often?”

Lydia squints. Realizing his mistake two seconds late, the boy manages not to spit out his sip of beer.

“I’m sorry!” he cries out, his eyes widening in such a genuine way. “I didn’t mean it that way, I swear - besides, it’s really not my thing to go and tackle girls like that...”

She cracks up and waves her hand dismissively. “Oh, it’s fine. You’re the first one that’s actually apologized for that.” He smiles even wider, the white of his teeth shining against the grain of his skin and the flashing lights around them.

“You’re Lydia, right?” he asks.

Lydia cocks her head to the side curiously. “The one and only. So you’ve heard of me?”

He chuckles. “You’re really popular around here.”

Lydia dips her head, letting her ponytail brush against the back of her neck. “More like used to be.” He waits for further explanation but she doesn’t give any and looks at the dancing crowd. She wants to make a snarky comment, yet he takes her by surprise.

“Man, this looks incredibly awkward.”

She snorts inelegantly. “You tell me. I’ve been trying to instill that to my friends for an hour but they’re too deaf now to even hear me. It’s humiliating.”

He laughs as a tone-deaf girl starts to shout the lyrics, or what seems to be lyrics but is to Lydia’s ears complete gibberish. “They look like they’re having fun, at least. Thank god ridicule never kills.”

“I don’t think so, I’d give every last dollar I have for a mercenary to put down this disaster.” she replies with a shrug, pointing at said girl.

“Oh, it’s not _that_ bad…”

Lydia raises a critical eyebrow. “ _Please_. She looks like a strangled cat.”

He laughs again. “I think you’re being harsh. She’s just having fun!”

“Well ‘having fun’ is not a synonym for ‘drilling through people’s eardrums and ruining their evening’.”

He rolls his eyes and she admires his technique. Remembers something crucial.

“I didn’t hear your name.”

He looks down at her. “I’m Scott.” he grins. “Scott McCall.”

She smiles as he holds out his hand. She takes it in hers, shakes it. “Nice to meet you, Scott. Is it your first time here?”

“Uh, second, actually. I came with my best friend the last time, and today he’s… _definitely not_ here.”

“So you came here by yourself? Isn’t that a little intimidating?”

“A little.” he says, running a hand through the mop that is his hair.

“Then why are you here?”

When he eyes her again, he seems a little fearful, but maybe that’s just Lydia’s imagination. He clears his throat. “To have fun, of course! I love having fun. It’s the funniest thing ever. With dancing.”

Lydia isn’t buying it. She squints at him and opens her mouth to ask another question but Allison is suddenly here.

She walks to Isaac like a fallen goddess and almost stands to attention at his side, barely noticing Lydia’s presence.

“I need to talk to you.” are her only words.

As if he’s already aware of her next words, he swallows down the last drops of whiskey at the bottom of his glass and stands up. Both of them don’t seem to be strong enough to meet the other’s eyes.

They go past Scott and Lydia, Allison with a military-like walk, Isaac with bulky steps. Before the archer opens the back door of the club, she looks over at Lydia and gives her a decided nod, and so the redhead knows.

She turns around, back at her drink, and sighs deeply. “I hate it when relationships end.”

Scott is still staring at the spot at which Isaac and Allison stood a second ago. “Yeah.” he says lazily. “I’m gonna dance.”

Lydia thinks about holding him back but on second thought, she’s only known him for a couple of minutes now. Feeling lonely does not mean preventing people from having fun. And if there’s one thing this guy needs right now, it’s having fun.

She wonders if she should order something else, maybe some bubble tea, but she decides that she won’t allow herself to look miserable a second more.

She gets on her feet, runs her fingers through her ponytail to untangle the locks, smoothes her blue shorts, and props up the headset to her ears. The beat flows through her system and she feels herself pulsing along with it as she walks between the dancers. She gets to the mixer and the turntables, taps the DJ on the shoulder.

Kira turns around and smiles at her. She takes her headphones off for a second, just the time to yell (quite inefficiently as the club is mostly silent) that she’s produced this track on her own, to which Lydia thumbs up, and goes back to her mix table, twisting the CDs cheerfully.

Lydia’s attention focuses on Kira’s fingers and professionalism. She may not be a fan of this music but she knows that Kira loves what she makes and that’s just enough for her to be happy for her friend.

The DJ is always situated on a stage. This way, he sees all and knows what’s right for his audience. This way, Lydia sees all and knows who’s worth her attention.

On the far right, her puppy-eyed acquaintance is being assaulted by two girls who, conglomerated around him, show off their dance feats. Body rolls, winks, spins, hips sways, pelvis thrusts, Scott doesn’t seem to be aware of the flirt but is having a good time still, laughing along with the dancers.

Ethan’s in the middle of the rave. Eyes closed, head bobbing along with the beats, he loses and forgets himself. His twin’s not that far away from him, clutching a drink in a fist, trying not to spill any as some blonde twerks on him. Lydia observes Aiden for a moment, wondering whether or not she should flag him down that night again so they could forget about their problems once more.

Her gaze goes back to Kira having the time of her life at her side, and she smiles, lets the rainbow of colors dance in front of her closed eyelids.

She thinks about Stiles. She’s mad at him, obviously, and she’s going to make him pay once he’ll be back. But there’s also this inexplicable twinge in her chest, something that isn’t anger, something that she’s only experienced once in her life and that she never wants to feel again.

She makes up her mind as her heel beats on the floor with the pulsations of the music. She’s going to call Aiden once she’s a hell of a lot more drunk, and she’s going to forget it all. How long has it been since she last got laid? Three weeks, a month, more or less. And she really needs to forget Stiles.

Moved by a sixth sense she ignored possessing, she opens her eyes and finds _him_.

It’s a brunette in the sea of look-alikes but her eyes instantly trail to him. Spiked up mess, constant smirk, upturned nose, plaid shirt, a glimmer in the whiskey of his irises. Lydia doesn’t think twice.

She jumps off the stage, tears her headphones off her ears furiously and makes her way into the silent crowd. Her feet draw her like getting back to him is second nature.

She stops right behind him. Crosses her arms under her chest and puts on a scowl.

Stiles too, like moved by some instinct, turns around. Gapes at her.

“Where the hell have you been?” she hisses.

His headphones hang around his neck so he cannot make up the deaf excuse. However, he continues to stare at her like he’s just seen a ghost, pink coloring his cheekbones that are way too high for Lydia’s taste. Then he seems to shake himself and smiles sheepishly.

For Lydia, that’s the final straw.

Puffing with anger, she grabs him by the forearm, refusing to acknowledge his cry of despair, and heads for the club’s nearest toilets.

She blatantly ignores Stiles’s protests and barges into the women’s bathroom. There, she eyes acidly the trio of friends that are checking each other’s body paint until, intimidated, they hurry past them and head back to the dance floor; once the last one has shut the door behind her, Lydia turns around to stare at Stiles, who’d rather be already six feet underground.

“Where the hell have you been?” she repeats, trying with difficulty to sound calmer than she actually is.

He makes the right choice to seem guilty. “I…” he stammers, wheels turning in his head. “I was sick. My dad - I mean my dad was sick.”

“Is that so?” she says with a glare.

He nods rashly. “Yeah, it was really bad, I told him to be cautious with what he eats because of his cholesterol but as usual he thought he could handle this enormous burger, and - you don’t believe me, do you?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Well it’s true, my dad’s got cholesterol-”

“Maybe it is, but it still won’t tell me why _you haven’t even called me_.”

For a second, she thinks that she’s let her cover down. That he just _has_ to see how worried she had been, how sick of not seeing him she had been, how longing… but he doesn’t seem to notice. He continues to stare down at her, eyes mysteriously clouded.

She wants to jump at him, grab him by the collar but Lydia Martin is a proud woman and she won’t let herself stoop to this level of impulsivity.

“After we… practiced” she says warily “you ran off and I didn’t hear from you for two goddamn weeks. What, were you scared, did you forget to tell me something important that could have ended our contract, or did you just turn into a frightened doe all of a sudden?”

“A frightened doe?” he echoes with a frown.

“You heard me.” she punctuates. “I want to know the reasons for your hasty departure and your irritating silence.”

She lets him have five seconds to explain himself. He doesn’t put them to use. He looks at her wordlessly. She sees his hesitation and stare move from her eyes to her lips. She chooses to think of it as a mistake from his side.

She sighs heavily, tightening the crossing of her arms underneath her chest, unconsciously or maybe consciously making her breasts pop out more than usual.

“Were you just scared because it was a little forward? Maybe you didn’t like it, but you used to date Malia so it doesn’t make any sense-”

“How do you know about Malia?”

“Is it about Malia?”

The two questions gush out at the same time, leaving the two breathless. Stiles’s gaze hesitates now between the line of her neck and her red mouth.

“No, it’s nothing to do with Malia.” he replies to her question.

“She told me herself.” she replies to his question.

“Why do you even care anyway if it’s about Malia or not?”

“Because it obviously has an impact on your acting.”

“It’s never been about Malia, not since you-”

“And obviously there’s something bothering you, even if it’s not Malia.”

“It’s not about Malia.” he repeats, suddenly tired from talking about his ex. Thankfully her next words have the effect of a cold and unexpected shower.

“Prove it.”

He licks his lips, not sure if he likes the way their argument is going. “How do you want me to prove it?”

“Kiss me.”

Never in her minutiously written scripts for their “public couple scenes” had she meant to say this. They aren’t in public, but this hardly counts, because she’s said it anyway. These two fucking words.

She tells herself it’s nothing but a practice before he dives forward and smashes his lips against hers.

At first she’s taken aback, but the next second she whimpers against Stiles, hating herself already. She kisses him back feverishly and that’s it, they’re kissing in earnest.

She struggles mentally, tries to rate this kiss on a scale of one to ten, but her mind is going numb and there’s just this ache in her abdomen that takes over all of her other senses, and the sound of her moans and Stiles’s, deep, echoing groans that vibrates in her throat; she can’t judge the way he kisses her anymore as he opens his mouth and she lets herself dive in head first into the flow.

It’s only when his hands slide around her waist and down to her ass that she realizes that twice in her life she’s lost control of her feelings, both of those because of him.

He’s the first to part, leaving Lydia at a complete loss. And frustrated. Oh god, is she frustrated.

She has a perfectly schemed plan, for fuck’s sake, and Stiles threatens to tear it to pieces.

She starts to hate him just a little.

“Was that enough of a proof?” he murmurs huskily, his mouth so close to hers she could catch it between her teeth by tilting her head up.

“Not sure.” she says coyly. “At that rate, the others will think we’re fucking in every corner of our places.”

His breath comes out in a rag. To Stiles, this ‘fucking’ is the hottest thing he’s ever heard.

She takes a step back, barely registers his disappointment, and gathers her thoughts with difficulty. She eyes herself in one of the five mirrors above the sinks: reddened cheeks, swollen lips, crazed gaze, Lydia looks miserably pleased. She pulls on her ponytail, lets down her hair and tousles it in a failed attempt to conceal the smudge body paint on her neck and sides of her face. The phosphore butterfly wings, once so realistic it almost felt like they really were flapping on her skin, seem now as alive as a faded stain.

“We should leave the bathroom.” she says, giving up on her teasing voice to use the professional one instead. A crack between two words makes her despise herself.

Her heels smack against the tiles of the floor as she heads to the way out. A brush against the curve of her back and her name in a murmur intimate her to stop.

“They’ll wonder what took us so long.”

Lydia almost fails to notice a quiver of sadness in his voice, but it disappears just as she wonders why it’s there. She turns around, frowning skeptically.

Stiles bounces on the tip of his toes. “They’ll wonder what we were doing in here.” he explains.

The quiver is back. But it doesn’t have the sound of a faucet running anymore. It’s warmer. Hotter. Almost burning up.

The whiskey in his eyes has been set aflame and she can do nothing but watch something new rise from the ashes.

“What do you mean?” she says.

He cocks his head to the side, suddenly intensely concentrated. To Lydia, this focused expression is the most attractive thing she’s ever seen.

“I mean, we’re both looking way too innocent for a young couple that just got through two weeks of not seeing each other.”

Lydia’s eyes widen and, breathless, she continues to stare at Stiles as he inches closer. He’s merely a foot away when he stops, looking down at her.

A side of Lydia’s brain is ready to agree with whatever might come out of Stiles’s mouth, but the other side, the logical one, screeches that this has never been part of the deal.

For once, she shushes the latest.

“Okay.” she murmurs. “But I’ll do you first.”

Without waiting for a reply from him, she grips his belt urgently and yanks it away to throw it in a corner. Stiles looks down at where the skin of his stomach meets her fingers. Swallows his saliva with difficulty. Lydia has trouble not looking at his happy trail and even more not wondering where it leads to. She lowers her hands, down underneath his waistline, and busies her fingers with unbuttoning his jeans. She doesn’t comment on his hard breath and her own flushed cheeks.

Never comment.

Just act.

Because that’s what they’re here for, right? Acting.

As long as she keeps telling herself that they never ceased to act…

Caress of his fingertips as he makes her bra strap slide down her shoulder. Brush of his palm as he creases her blue shirt, tentatively skimming the holes in the fabric that open to her naked skin on which the multicolored butterfly is ready to set off. Graze of his prints as his fingers drift lower, lower to the buttons of her shorts, unfastening the first two.

She takes control of the spasm in her belly that pulls her to him, tames it, until it purrs to her will. Not now, she tells herself. Not yet.

Not ever, she decides firmly, changing her mind brutally. It’s all an act, it’s all fake. You like the idea of this, but not Stiles. Not really.

Although she has to admit that she knows a way he could use these long calloused fingers of his.

She pulls her hair up in a messy ponytail,  shrugs the lace off indecisively, and chooses to tie it in a loose bun. Pulls on a few strands so she looks disheveled. Judges her appearance in a mirror.

“That’ll do.” she says, because what else is she supposed to say?

“Okay.” he replies, because what else is he supposed to reply?

She walks out first, he follows her a minute later.

She catches Kira’s attention by waving at her, pretends she doesn’t feel her surprised stare on her, makes sure she’s still looking as she hastily buttons up her shorts and smoothes her shirt.

Then she runs to Allison who stands with the puppy-eyed guy at the bar, headphones around their necks. Allison’s eyes are red with held back tears but she smiles as she sees Lydia’s get-up, and smiles even wider as Scott cracks a joke about the redhead’s disheveled appearance.

 

*

 

“So you two are really over?”

Lydia applies the second coat of pink polish on her french nail in process, admiring her work.

“Yes.” replies Allison with the shadow of a faked smile. “I didn’t want it to happen like this, but at the same time, I don’t think there’s a good way to end a relationship.”

“You’re right. Sometimes you just have to snatch it off, like an old band-aid.”

Allison nods, nose buried in her essay. There’s ink on her left nostril but Lydia’s too amused by it to let her friend rub it off.

She slams her book closed to conceal her laugh, therefore almost spilling the contents of her nail polish on her pencil case. “ _Shit_. Er, how’s Isaac taking it?”

Allison merely shrugs. “I think he cried. I left before I could see it though. But I know he felt the same thing as me, that the spark of the first days had died down. He thinks it’s best too. But we’ll still keep in touch.”

“Are you telling yourself this to make yourself feel better or are you really meaning it? No, because in every relationship I’ve been, the guy always said that we should continue to be friends, and he always wanted us to get back together in the end. Or bang. Which is basically the same thing.”

Allison shakes her head. “No, that’s not Isaac’s style. Besides…” but she lets her words hang in mid-air, and scratches the tip of her nose. ‘A little on the right’ Lydia thinks, but Allison isn’t telepathic.

“Besides...?” she trails off.

Allison looks up from her essay and smirks. She puts down her pen, awakening Lydia’s supernatural sense that warns her of any danger. “You and Stiles.” she states. “Apparently you were so horny you scared off a couple of innocent girls out of the Sinema’s bathroom.”

“We simply opened their eyes to what’ll to happen to them in a few years.”

“Lydia. ... _Lydia_.”

“ _What_?”

“ _You’re blushing_.”

Lydia carries a hand to her cheek as if the blush is just a smudge of ink she could very easily erase.

“And?” she says, taking great interest in her nails.

Allison has completely forgotten her essay now, stares at her best friend with a glimmer in her eyes. “And you never blush. Lydia, are you _in love with Stiles_?”

Lydia scoffs and finds the right page to her book, trying desperately to get back to the line that she lost by painting her nails while not looking desperate.

“He’s my boyfriend.” she reminds almost too snappily.

“Yeah, but there’s a huge difference between dating and loving for you.” affirms Allison. Lydia’s hands grip tight the pages of her book and she feels her face redden distinctly. She turns it so her friend is blind to the turmoil inside of her. “You can date everyone, whether it’s by popularity or pity, but you can’t love anyone. You don’t get to decide that. And I think that’s what makes love even more beautiful; it being totally out of your control.”

“That’s your point of view.” jeers Lydia.

“Maybe.” agrees the brunette. “But where’s the fun in what you can control?”

“Allison!” Lydia suddenly hisses, throwing her hands up in the air. “ _I don’t know_. There’s your answer. I. Don’t. Know. Now please stop trying to make me confess how I feel, okay? You know I’m not like that.”

Allison has no other choice but to kowtow to her words.

Lydia and Allison both continue to work in silence. Allison with her French essay, Lydia studying for her Biology test.

It’s hard not to think about the way Stiles’ warm hands have touched her stomach once, and it’s even harder not to think about how she would have liked for them to drift lower. It’s even harder not to think about how _right_ it felt, this kiss, this utterly professional kiss and his groans and his palms sliding down to her ass, almost covering it.

Lydia has always enjoyed clearing her mind with studying, but it’s the first time her hobby lets her down.

She doesn’t know what to think anymore.

She jumps as the door of her apartment creaks open, followed by a cry of pain as the intruder walks straight into the umbrella stand.

“ _Shit_ , Lyds, in what universe would you buy an umbrella stand when you can just own a freakin’ hooded jacket?”

The silence is broken between the two and Allison eyes her before bursting into a set of badly-hidden giggles.

Allison continues to laugh into her paper as Lydia rolls her eyes, getting up to welcome Stiles in.

“Don’t put mud on my stuff.” she warns with an autoritative finger as he takes off his soaked sneakers and hangs his jacket on the coat rack.

“I would _never_.” he gasps, falsely offended. “Hey, how are you, Allison?” he says as he walks into the bedroom, Lydia following him closely.

“Peachy!” smiles Allison, taking him in a fraternal hug. “Oh, hum, have you seen Scott lately?”

“We live in the same place, remember?” he laughs, letting down his wet backpack on Lydia’s desk, making her grunt. “We practically share everything.”

“I hope not everything.” the redhead scolds, pushing his bag away from her books and nailpolish whilst carefully avoiding to ruin her french nails.

Allison quirks an eyebrow up. “That was gross.”

“I can't help it if you’re the one with the perverted mind.”

Stiles blinks. “Well, we do share the shampoo, but that’s because I’m too lazy to buy a new one.”

“Oh, good, at least he’s aware of how pathetic he is.” comments Lydia, sitting back into her desk chair.

“You’re pathetic.” Stiles says back with a wink.

“How effective. Now I am doomed to a life of misery.”

“Maybe, but not to a life of starvation.” he concludes, smiling proudly as he pulls out three sandwiches from his bag. “I got you the veggie with a Caesar salad” he shakes the transparent Tupperware to make the vinegar blend in with the lettuce and hands it over “roasted chicken sandwich for Allison” he gives it to her with her soda “and a Meatball Marinara for me myself and I.”

“Thanks.” smiles the brunette.

“I take back what I said.” decides Lydia as she stabs her Caesar with a plastic fork. “You’re not that pathetic. You’re actually quite selfless from time to time.”

Stiles already has his mouth full. Allison, eyes darting from one of her friends to another, steps in.

“Especially when it comes to you.” she declares innocently.

Stiles chokes on a meatball. Lydia glares at her best friend who shrugs without an ounce of guilt.

He finally manages to swallow the meat and stares pointedly at Allison’s nose. “You got ink.”

Allison frowns, and scratches inefficiently the wrong nostril.

Lydia shakes her head, snorting. “A little more on the left.”

“You knew!” her friend spurts out, pointing a finger at her. “And you said nothing!”

“What can I say? Ink looks good on you.” laughs Lydia, almost spilling her salad.

“You traitor!” But Allison is laughing now as well, unable to eat her chicken sandwich. “See Stiles, he’s a gentleman compared to you!”

Later on, as Stiles had slipped his soda on his pants and ran for the bathroom, Allison leans to Lydia.

“You keep him. I have the feeling it’s the right one.”

 

*

 

Allison’s words keep roaming inside Lydia’s head as he presses her against the wall of her apartment, leaving a trail of a thousand kisses down her neck. They are violent and hard, a billion lights away from the care and the burning hot river she had felt with Stiles as he had simply touched her back.

She pulls Aiden’s hair harder. He groans and dives one of his hands into her bra, squeezing her breast almost painfully. She forces herself to like it, telling herself that it’s nothing different from the last times.

Except it is.

Foreplay over, she thinks as she takes him to his bedroom to let him fuck her until there’s no trace of Stiles’s fingers left on her skin.

Lydia feels absolutely nothing as Aiden touches her, as she climbs into his lap and starts violently ripping his shirt open. A lazy grin drifts over his lips when he undoes her skirt, and it’s nothing like Stiles’s smile, so focused and passionate. She looks away from his face, slithers down his body with her french nails, stops at the bulge in his boxers.

Her mind is a chaos of hesitation and doubt.

She’s always liked sex, ever since her first time. She’s liked the physicality of it, the way she can make horny young men do whatever she wants just by switching into a sultry voice and hollowing her cheeks. She has power. She has the power to scar red marks and to elicit gasps. She has the power to control desires and shivers.

But never in her own bed. She’s already tainted it with Jackson’s sweat.

Lydia doesn’t let Aiden kiss her. Even as he tosses her panties aside, even as he cups her breasts, she doesn’t leave him access to her mouth.

It’s not the calming intensity she’s felt as Stiles’ lips had smashed against hers, it’s a hurricane and she’s its eye. She’s the one in control of the weather, whether it’s windy or stormy, whether they’re both drunk or lost in lust.

As she parts her thighs, she realizes that she doesn’t like it anymore.

And so she pushes Aiden away, gathers her clothes back and runs out, scorching hot tears gathering in her eyes. She keeps the disgust and shame in, face painted and void, muscles stuffed with straw, limbs animated by strings.

When she showers, she scrubs her skin until it’s covered in red blotches. Aiden’s caresses sink into the plughole, but Stiles’s can’t seem to burn out.

 

*

 

She can't ignore him any longer, because Allison would ask and Scott would ask and she feels betrayed since she has figured out that Stiles had pushed Scott into the Sinema’s just to check if she wasn't that mad at him; and Kira would ask and Aiden’s already asked and Ethan is asking for updates too and she’s deeply, utterly, figuratively fucked.

She can't not ignore him too, because he’s the reason she refused to have sex with a guy for the first time in her life. How dare he meddle with her thoughts and feelings. How dare he meddle with her dreams, leaving her a mess of despair in the morning when she finds herself scraping between her thighs.

If there’s one thing Stiles Stilinski is not allowed to explore, it’s the inside of her thighs.

Day after day, she hates herself a little more for making up these rules.

 

*

 

If there’s one thing Lydia Martin hates most, it’s being teased. And doctors and her ex. But being teased is the worst of them.

Honestly, she has never expected to be teased by Stiles Stilinski’s _existence_.

Teased by the way he pumps his fist into the air as he completes an essay she’s helped him write. Teased by the way his t-shirt reveals his navel and his happy trail as he stretches after a quick nap. Teased by the way he sings off-key when he takes a shower, and the way he always confuses shampoo and body oil. Teased by the way he looks down at her when she brushes her teeth, when she tries to cook, when she laughs with Scott, when she walks down the steps to climb into his Jeep as he waits for her at the end of her classes; fondness and care, and something warmer that she has trouble defining. That she’s afraid to define.

She can live with teases. But she can’t with fear.

And she’s starting to be afraid by the very thought of being with him. She’s losing control, for the first time ever, because she’s falling for Stiles fucking Stilinski.

All she wishes is to slap him. On the lips. With her lips.

She’s completely terrified.

“You okay?”

She screws her eyes shut. Rubs her temples with the fore and middle finger of both hands.

“Stop.” she murmurs.

They were supposed to go on a fake date today, drive until they were sure no one was going to follow them, and eventually park and not talk to each other because they weren’t really dating. Lydia had called in sick at the last minute.

Stiles always knows when something is up.

He inches closer to the bed on which she’s lying, barely a foot away from her toes.

He doesn’t seem to have heard her command.

“You don’t seem okay. Want me to bring you ibuprofen from the store? Or maybe a hot water bottle?”

Stars dance before her eyes as she presses her thumbs against her lids. It stings slightly.

“Just go.” she murmurs again, but he doesn’t have a wolf’s hearing.

Instead of leaving, he sits at her side, close to her hips. She knows he’s looking down at her and opens her eyes to meet his worried stare.

A pang in her stomach as she realizes that no one else has ever looked at her like he does.

“I saw you crying the other day.” he begins tenderly, and Lydia’s gaze leaves his face to focus on her ceiling and the stars scattered on it. She wonders if his moles match her stars, she wonders about the burning scars he’s carved in her life as soon as he’s left her. “I don’t know what I can do to help, but… if there’s anything you need, anything you want me to do, I’m here.”

Lydia just wants to crush her head under a pillow so it spares her the sight of Stiles so close to her.

“Just stop.” she says, a little louder this time. He frowns, but she doesn’t give him the time to compose himself. She pulls herself to her elbows, barely five inches away from his face. There’s a mole on his cheek, right inside his dimple, and she focuses on it instead of his mouth. Tries to ignore the universe running on his skin. “Stop trying to be nice to me, Stiles. It’s not worth it.”

“What do you mean?” he murmurs, at loss. “Of course-”

“ _Don’t_!”

She pushes him away and jumps out of bed, ignoring the spasm in her belly that tugs her to him.

“Stop it.” she commands, pointing a finger at him. “You don’t-” She opens her mouth and closes it like a fish in need of water, and lets her hand fall at her side. “I’m tired.” she complies. “I’m tired and my head aches. I’m sorry to lash out on you like that, it’s not fair to you.”

Stiles slowly stands up and nods, giving her a smile. “Yeah, of course. Don’t ever apologize for that, we’ve all been stressed every once in a while. It’s a thing. After all, we’re all just human.”

Lydia mimics his nod, tries to reproduce his smile. She dips her head, tries not to think about how miserable she must look; face void of makeup and a comfy black skirt with a basic red top she had found in the deepest of the depths of her closet.

When she raises her head back up, a grin hovers before Stiles’s lips, shooting a meteor in her chest.

“Come on.” he spurts out, running out of the room. She follows him with a suspicious frown. Catches her green coat as he throws it to her.

“What are you doing?” she asks, tilting her head to the side, watching him scurrying to put on his shoes and jacket.

“Wrong.” he smiles, jumping up and down as he struggles to put on the second sneaker. “What are _we_ doing?”

She crosses her arms underneath her chest, feeling annoyance creeping in along with its best friend: amusement. “Okay. What are we doing?”

“We’re going out.” he replies in a haste.

She sighs. “I told you, I’m really not in the mood for yet another fake date.”

“Oh, but it’s not a fake date.” he smirks, finally managing to stick the right foot into the right shoe, and hands her her scarf. “Put it on, winter is coming.”

She rolls her eyes. “Obviously. It’s January.”

And it hits her as she wraps the scarf around her neck.

They’ve been dating for four months now.

A flutter of excitement as they run down the stairs of the building, Stiles leading her to his car, Lydia following him with a smile she had ceased to conceal ages ago, their hands interlocked like a string prevents them from pulling away.

A shudder of thrill as his hand wraps around the stick shift and the car swerves onto the highway, as he happily turns on the radio and sings along some old tune she wouldn't care about if he wasn't there, as she stares at the road and it’s rainbow of colors - red and yellow and white, sparkling in her eyes and her heart when she listens to him sing without a complaint.

A chill of realization as he parks the closest to the biggest carnival of California.

He shuts the engine off, turns his head and beams at her.

“The carnies haven’t came here since I was learning how to walk but they made a comeback this year. Scott told me, because he’s planning to take Allison there next week - please don’t tell her, by the way, it would ruin his plan and Scott would literally behead me. Anyway, I’ve also been told they give 50% off on Friday, so I figured, what the hell? Maybe Lydia would like it, maybe it would distract her from whatever is going on right now that I don’t know how to help her with… Maybe she’d smile again. Yep. That’s it. I just… wanted to see you smile.”

Lydia stares ahead at the whirling lights and the bouncing rides.

Her eyes sting. She doesn’t understand why. It isn't the stars’ fault.

“Oh no.” Stiles murmurs, horrified. “I didn’t want to make you cry, I’m sorry. I mean, you still look beautiful but-”

“No.” she croaks out, erasing the tears on her cheeks with the back of her hand. “No, it’s not you. It’s… Thank you.”

Stiles blinks. Once. Twice. Before his face breaks into a wet laugh.

“Any time.” he whispers.

He opens his door and jumps out swiftly. She observes the cold wind ruffling through his hair as he walks around the car to open her door. Warmth curls into her stomach. She shoots him a grateful smile, hops off, secures her green coat around her as a brutal gaft takes her by surprise but does nothing to soften her inside glow.

His hand on her back as they walk to the ticket booth.

He pays, Lydia promising to pay him off. They hold out their hand, get printed with invisible ink a laughing bear at the back of them.

“You okay?” he says, his hand still brushing against the small of her back as they walk into the carnival, dodging kids and their exhausted parents here and there.

She nods. Lets a content smile reign over her lips.

And she surprises him. Loops an arm through his, hugs him by his side and rests a head on his shoulder, breathing in the smell of cheap cologne and hair gel.

He relaxes after a couple of seconds. “You know there’s no need to pretend, we don’t know anyone here.” he says even so.

“I don’t pretend anymore.” she replies softly.

She feels his hot breath on her cheek, and then his kiss on her forehead.

“That’s good.” he murmurs. “That’s very good.”

They wander around together between the stalls. He buys her cotton candy but they end up sharing it because he doesn’t have enough money to buy another for himself, and she didn’t bring her wallet with her.

She beats him at the Balloon and Darts game and Best Scream booth, and he manages to lose himself inside the Mirror Maze. However, he catches all the ducks of the Duck Pond before she does.

“It’s nothing to be proud of.” she snickers as he triumphantly clutches the enormous teddy bear he’s earned. “Any five-year-old can catch a rubber duck.”

“Maybe, but not even Lydia Martin could catch all of the ducks before the almighty Stiles Stilinski!” he retorts.

“That was luck!” she dismisses. “I bet you’d even love to try out the Bumper cars.”

“Yeah, it’s my favorite game.”

She stares at him in disbelief. “You are definitely a five-year-old.”

He takes her hand and kisses it playfully. “Maybe, but I’m your five-year-old.” She pulls her hand back to push him away from her, just for the hell of it. “Wanna go to the Dungeon Drop?” he jabbers impishly, nudging her back.

She still feels the burn of his lips on her skin. “We just ate cotton candy.” she snorts. “I’m not feeling like throwing up.”

He quirks an eyebrow up. “I’ve never heard anything that immature in my life.”

Lydia has intended to roll her eyes but instead she cracks up, unable to gather enough breath to object. “I can’t believe I’m stuck with you.” she says once her ribs stop hurting.

He lets out a free laugh that echoes through her ears and embeds itself in her memories.

“I know, the more annoying I am, the more I make an impression out on people.”

“Oh, I’m not ready to forget you.”

“That’s the point!” he chuckles merrily, before striding off to the Chair-O-Planes. “What about this one?”

She pouts. “I don’t know, isn’t that the same thing as the Dungeon Drop?”

“The kind to make you throw up? Nah, it’s safe. I mean, you’re kinda thrown around but it depends on who’s controlling the ride…”

“So it’s a no.”

He shakes his head with a fake sigh. “You, Lydia Martin, have very complicated tastes.”

She smirks. “Explains why I can’t get a decent date.”

He opens his mouth in a perfect O. “I’m sorry? I’m perfect boyfriend material! None of the people I’ve been with have complained…”

Suddenly it’s like a lock opening in Lydia’s chest. “How many people have you been with?” she says quickly before she can regret it.

He shoots her a startled look. “I thought we didn’t have to talk about our personal lives…”

“Screw being professional.” Lydia says, like brightly.

He stares at her until it’s becoming embarrassing, then looks up at the enormous Ferris Wheel whose flashing lights and silhouette stand out like a mountain above all the other rides.

“You know I’ve been with Malia.” he replies, suddenly calmer than she’s ever seen him. “She was actually my first. We met in high school, stayed together during almost two years, but then I figured out that we didn’t really get on, not soulmates level, y’know?” Lydia nods as he goes along, ignoring all the colors around them to focus on his detached face. There’s another mole, right on his neck. Another at the back of it, almost hidden by the collar of his jacket. She wonders how many more are scattered across his back. “Then after Malia came Katlin, but it didn’t last for very long. It was more like a fling. I tried with other people in college, I had like… two one night stands in two years, one with a boy and the other with a girl, and then… well, that’s when you come into the picture.”

He looks down at her to see her reaction, but she only smiles gently, urging him to go on.

He lowers his head and scratches his eyebrow with a little nervous chuckle.

“But, huh, I’ve never been best boyfriend of the year. You’re right on this. I let Malia down because I was too much of a coward to tell her what I really thought. That I was waiting for the right person. Yeah, now that I say it, I really seem like an asshole, but that’s what I was waiting for.”

Lydia clutches onto his arm. “And are you still looking for that person?”

He shrugs indifferently, then clears his throat. “Er, I don’t know. I’m not sure.”

“How can you not be sure?”

Another shrug. “What about you?”

Lydia blinks. “What about me?”

“Well, how’s it going? Y’know, relationship-wise.”

A chill runs down her spine, a chill that has nothing to do with the coldness of the breeze. She looks down at her nails. “You’ve probably guessed by now that I’m not the best girlfriend either.”

He puffs loudly. “You’ve been an excellent fake girlfriend to me so far.”

She smiles. “That’s different.” They’ve reached the feet of the Ferris Wheel and look up at the little capsules hanging above their heads. “My first boyfriend was a douchebag.” she spurts out, gaze locked on the black sky. “Jackson Whittemore. We met in primary school, started dating at the end of middle school, and went on until junior year. I really loved him back then, but I was also too blind to know that he loved no one but himself. Remember Danny? He was his best friend, until Jackson suddenly decided that we all weren’t worth him and jumped on the first plane for England.” She feels the pressure produced by Stiles’s hand on her lower back and they continue to walk, moving past a Haunted House. “After, there was Aiden, who you met at Kira’s night. It wasn’t really dating, more like a distraction. I’ve had lots of distractions.” For the first time, she doesn’t feel like crying after talking about Jackson. She only feels calm, like a weight has been taken off of her shoulders, and she smiles up to Stiles. “And you know the rest of the story.”

He chuckles. “So you’ve also been waiting for the right one?”

“Please.” she snorts. “I don’t believe in that soulmates bullcrap.”

“Oh, you’re the rational kind.”

“I believe that love is, scientifically, the sudden release of _phenylethylamine_ into the brain when you see someone society has made you think looks physically attractive, like a person you’re most likely to be sexually attracted to.”

Out of the blue, Stiles staggers to an halt. “I didn’t get anything of what you just said, I just got a hold of the words ‘sexually attracted to’.”

“Of course you did. Wanna go to the Carousel?”

“Any time.”

She takes a wooden horse and he hops into the coach next to it. She pretends to be the damsel riding on her stallion and he pretends to be the prince chasing after her, both charging at different battles.

The music inside the merry-go-round is cringe-worthy and the convolution is way too sluggish, but Lydia is having the time of a thousand lives.

Which is probably why, when they jump off after their third ride, all reason tuned out by the echoes of his laugh, she kisses him.

After a few seconds of shocked silence, he kisses her back, eyes blazing before he closes them. And when they pull away, Lydia can feel the warmth of his stare travel all the way down to her belly, warming her up by this cold weather like no fireplace ever did. For a second that feels like an eternity, she is a Sun.

He cups her cheek and can’t seem to stop staring at her lips like it’s some sort of sweet he’s earned, better than any cotton candy. Lydia completely, utterly, melts.

She takes his hand, tugs it, anchors herself to it. “Come on.” she murmurs into his neck.

 

*

 

She isn’t thinking, isn’t planning anything as she walks them backwards into her bed.

His eyes keep flicking down to her lips that haven’t been kissed for a couple of seconds, and she falls down onto the sheets, dragging him with her.

“Lydia.” he says like a prayer before they crash into each other, and she can tell that he’s vibrating with need and anxiety because the way he kisses her switches from passionate and hesitant every few seconds. He sizzles and groans into her mouth as she runs her hands through his hair, pulling at it.

She shivers and his lips trail down to her neck, all the way down to her chest. Her fingers tug at her shirt and she pulls it off in one large gesture.

The look on Stiles’s face when he discovers her breasts is pure awe. This amazement quickly turns into pure concentration as she unbuckles her bra and slides it off her arms, throws it in a corner. She shivers again when he cups her breasts between his palms, and suddenly she’s feeling light-headed, and moves a bold hand to his pants, unbuttoning it greedily.

Stiles’s mouth closes around one of her nipples, sending spasms through her body. She arches up into him, gasping for air as his tongue flickers against her skin.

“You okay?” he murmurs tenderly, his hot breath on her hot skin giving her goosebumps.

She screws her eyes shut, enjoying the moment, before nodding fiercely. He sucks back onto her nipple and she gasps, realizing just now how turned on she had been all these past days. Weeks?

She opens her eyes, looks up at him. “Stiles-” she says shakily, before focusing. “Stiles.”

“Yeah?” he says, before sliding higher up and kissing her briefly on the neck, and the lips. “Still okay?”

She nods, staring at him with wet and wide eyes, taking in the image of him pressing himself feverishly against her. She knows that if she speaks, her voice will come out croaked.

Don’t speak, don’t act, don’t think.

Lydia’s carefully crafted plan is torn apart but she can’t bring herself to give a damn.

She takes advantage of his body above hers and his attention focused on her skin to slide a hand down into his boxers.

He pants into her mouth as she takes him between her fingers and starts working him up and down. He tenses up, slides down uncontrollably and moans against her shoulder.

“Lyds.” he manages to appeal. “Lydia. I’m not- I’m not gonna last long if you keep doing this.”

But she keeps on stroking his length, manipulating him with care and professionalism. Her index brushes against the tip and he jolts forwards with a groan, spreads a thousand kisses across her face.

His tongue swipes along her lower lip and she lets him in instantly, melting their tongues and teeth into each other. He comes in her hand, his fists in her locks, and continues to shake a long time after he’s stopped coming.

“Fuck, Lyds-” he mumbles close to her mouth as he struggles to catch his breath.

“That was fast.” she teases, pulling her hand out of his pants.

The look he shoots her sends yet another shiver down her body, straight between her thighs. “You have no idea how much you turn me on.”

He’s Stiles and Stiles shouldn’t be able to make her legs tremble with need, because he’s just Stiles, he’s not her type, he’s her fake boyfriend, he’s not supposed to slide her skirt down her legs and grip her ass, hoist her lower half up so her feet dangle behind his back and her calves rest on his shoulders; and look down at her soaked panties. He’s simply not allowed to, it’s explicitly written on the contract they’ve both signed, yet it’s never felt more right.

His eyes darken as he hooks his fingers around the edges of her panties and drags them down, throws them away onto the pile of clothes. His lips part open and he keeps staring, his whole body being going rigid because that’s it, finally, there’s no going back.

He starts by kissing her calf, then kisses his way up on her knee to the inside of her thigh where it’s softer and warmer. Her breath hitches as his lips close around her love button, sucking on it, and she clenches her fists into his hair, head lolling back into the pillows. She’s trying very hard to stay quiet, because even though she still doesn’t have neighbors, it’s been a long time since someone other than her as touched her there and she doesn’t want to make a fool out of herself; but when Stiles looks up to her face to catch his breath and ask if she’s okay, she can’t help but whimper.

“Keep going.” during a tiny second she hates how she seems to be begging, but on another thought, she’d beg any time for this. “Stiles. Please don’t stop-”

A small gasp gets pulled out of her chest as he experimentally slides a finger into her, only to pull it away and shove it back in. A small smirk spreads on her lips as she thinks that she had always known that he could put his fingers to a use. Smirk that is quickly wiped off as he adds a second.

She presses a hand on her face, the other still buried into Stiles’s hair, and he pulls his hand away from her just to thrust his two fingers back into her heat, making her body jolt, trapped between his and the bed. She cries out when he curls them against her walls, nearly scraping, and he almost goes still at the sound but keeps screwing his fingers into her, pressing furiously at her clit with the heel of his palm.

She has to clamp a hand on her mouth when she comes in loud breaths, squeezing her eyes shut as flashes similar to those back at the carnival dance before her closed eyelids. The world spins and the carousel swirls, and continues to swirl even as Stiles’s mouth works its way up to her lips, dropping off a kiss wherever it goes and a lingering one on her mouth.

She can taste herself on those lips.

“I’d die the happiest man if that was the last thing I saw.” he murmurs huskily, pressing his forehead against hers.

Overwhelmed by the sweetness in his eyes, Lydia keeps shaking. “You’re overly dressed.” she notes. “It’s not fair.”

“And you have the best boobs ever, I hope you know that.”

“I know that. But for now-” she grips his pants and begins to slide them down his legs. “Off with these.”

Though surprised, he doesn’t deflect. “You wanna keep going?”

“Oh, I’m not gonna stop until you’re inside me.”

Stiles, who was tugging at his pants, pauses. Licks his bottom lip. “Fine by me.” he says breathlessly.

His trousers join the pile of Lydia’s clothes along with his shirt, allowing Lydia to finally discover the map of moles dispersed on his torso and back. She sits up, trails her fingers down his chest, feels the tense muscles and the soft skin, lays a kiss on his jaw where there’s a little spot of scruff, lays a kiss on neck, lays a kiss on his shoulder, another underneath his nipple, another above his navel, and another at his side, a last one right above the elastic of his boxers where a bump is beginning to grow below.

“You’re beautiful.” she murmurs.

Taken aback, Stiles breathes loudly through his nose. “You really mean that?” he says shakily.

“I do.”

“Well I think you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever laid my eyes on.”

She almost rolls her eyes. “Always exaggerating, aren't you?”

“Never.” he breathes out.

She swallows thickly and, without thinking any further, she slides his last piece of cloth off, leaving him completely naked in front of her. Barely even thinking straight, she remembers to grab a condom into the top drawer of her night table and rolls it down his length in a second.

Lydia can't stop smiling as she pushes him slowly onto the bed and climbs onto his lap, hovering just a few seconds above his member before lowering herself.

Shuddering from finally getting to know how having Stiles Stilinski’s cock inside of her feels like, Lydia can't stop rolling her hips, suddenly unable to get enough from all those weeks of desperate need. She takes him in and out, breathes him in, sets to a pace that’s too fast to focus exactly on what she’s doing.

Stiles’s smile is nothing like Aiden’s, lazy and cosy. He barely even smiles, it’s simply a twitch at the corners of his mouth, and it even looks like he might burst into tears. He contemplates her like a kid who has never felt the infinite of the ocean and is just learning how to breathe. She contemplates him like a girl who’s always seen space from her window and is just learning that it’s always expanding.

His large hands leave her sides to dig into her ass, then her breasts, twisting her nipples, and he doesn't seem to know which way to turn anymore. She lowers herself down and bites his lower lip where he’s used to walk his tongue, and he almost loses it.

“I love you so much, Lydia-” he mumbles into her mouth between two kisses. “So fucking much-”

When she stretches back up, a soft cry falling from her lips when his index comes to rub between her spread legs, Stiles pushes himself upright too and she buries her face in his shoulder, panting heavily. He guides her movements and brings his hands down to splay across her ass cheeks-

“So fucking much-”

-lifting her up and down his length, groaning as she scrapes his chest with her nails-

“So fucking-”

And he looks at her with such a desperate and bestial look that she comes again right on top of him. He follows her a couple of seconds later, pulling her flat to his chest as she still cries out her release, leaving red marks onto his skin where her nails have scraped.

He slowly lets her down at his side. She almost doesn't notice when he briefly leaves the room to throw the candom away, but she does when he comes back to bed, sharing a soft and slow kiss with her. She lets him rest his head on her chest and loosely tangles her fingers into his hair. Soon, the only sound in the apartment is the echo of their wild breaths.

“I can definitely die happy now.” he says with a quiver in his voice.

“Me too.” she hums after a couple of seconds, and somehow he knows it’s not to his last comment that she has replied to.

She falls asleep with the exhilarating feeling that she has no idea what to expect tomorrow morning.

 

*

 

Scott truly hasn’t expected Allison Argent to kiss him over his morning coffee. He’s startled, obviously, but he doesn’t mind in the slightest. Actually, as he leans over her to claim another mouthful of donut and possibly another kiss, he thinks that everyone needs to know about what just happened. He feels a bomb of excitement and happiness explode in his chest as Allison agrees to his request and, blushing, hand in hand, he lets her drive them to Lydia’s apartment, barely noticing that his best friend’s Jeep is already parked nearby.

They fly up the stairs, giggling and nudging each other, stopping every floor for a quick peck on the nose, before Allison shushes him and introduces the key of the apartment into the lock, opening the door smoothly without a creak.

“She’s probably still asleep.” she whispers, gently pushing Scott away as he moves her hair over one shoulder and tries to press a kiss against the column of her throat.

“We’ll surprise her.” he proposes with a wink.

They tiptoe to Lydia’s room, almost get busted as Scott trips over the umbrella stand, and cautiously open the door.

It’s dark in there. Scott sniffs the air with a frown and Allison switches on the light.

Cue Lydia gasping.

She quickly grabs the sheets and conceals both her and Stiles who awakens with a jolt; Allison covers her eyes and trips over Scott’s feet as he squints to see clearer. He suddenly gapes at his best friend and girlfriend naked in bed together and averts his eyes from the scene, both shocked and wanting to burst into a fit of laughter.

“Oh my god-” he spurts out, eyes as wide as saucers.

Lydia finds the first object that falls under her hand. “Get out of here!” she hisses, throwing the box of condoms at them.

Allison continues to giggle uncontrollably as they exit the room and Lydia can still hear her snorts in the living room. She falls back into the bed with an annoyed sigh. Stiles’s head emerges from the sheets and he stares around the room with heavy eyelids.

“Wadd izit?” he groans.

“Our best friends are morons.” she fumes, murdering the condoms all over the floor with the power of her glare.

He nods and runs a hand over his face. This simple action tunes out Lydia’s anger and affection floods her chest. The light Allison’s switched on assaults his features and brings out its reliefs; he blinks slowly, and she knows that she would give up everything just to lose herself in the gold of his sleepy eyes every morning.

Stiles stands up and stretches, notices her stare on him, and smiles. “See anything you like?”

She tilts her head to the side, all anger passed away. “I don’t know.” she says lazily. “There’s too much to put a name on.”

He flushes distinctly. Clears his throat. “So, about last night… Er, it was-”

“Cocky.” she proposes with a quirk of the eyebrow.

He flushes even more. “I was about to say ‘amazing’ but your answer is even better.”

“Cocky _and_ amazing.” she concludes, sitting up.

He sits at her side. Takes her hand and plays with the fingers. She knows he’s anxious, also knows why. “I was wondering.” he confides huskily. “About that whole fake dating thing. It’s been… great? But it’s also not been enough. You see? I mean, I hope you feel the same thing as me, and I think you do because of last night-”

“Stiles.” She cups his cheek and tilts his head back towards her. He swallows thickly as his gaze trails briefly over her naked form before going up to the green sea of her pupils. “Say it.”

“Would you like to be my girlfriend?” he whispers like he’s sharing a secret with the universe and the universe is named Lydia.

She kisses him as an answer. “Want to talk about all this over a cup of coffee?”


End file.
